tagRomanceThe Paralegal

The Paralegal


Copyright 2003.

As the author, I claim all rights under international copyright laws. This work is not intended for sale, but please feel free to post this story to other archives or newsgroups, keeping the header and text intact. Revision to the text (such as the basis for another story) is acceptable as long as the original author is given credit and the resulting story is distributed free of charge. Any commercial use of this work is expressly forbidden without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray any person living or dead, nor any known situation. This story contains themes of bondage, spanking, date rape, anal sex, and BDSM. It is meant for adults only and is not to be read by person's under the age of 18, or the legal age in the county/state/country in which the reader resides.

If you would like a Microsoft Word version of this story (a much better read), please contact me at the link below.


I was at my desk at work. The Sanders brief was due at five p.m. . . I didn't have a chance. When the phone rang at just after two, I answered it as I always do: "Patricia Changuris, may I help you?"

A male voice said: "Hi. My name is Tom. I'm calling about your ad in the paper?"

I blanked out for a moment. Then I said, "Oh."

My current roommate was leaving at the end of the month, and I had placed the add a couple of days before. I wanted another woman, but many men had called since Monday. Most I simply blew off. This one I didn't.

I said to him: "I'm pretty busy right now. Can you give me your number and I'll call you back tonight? Then maybe we can talk."

I wrote his number on a Post-it pad.

I left at seven p.m.


"Hi," I said.


It was eighty-thirty p.m. and he stood waiting in my doorway. He looked 5'10" and athletically built. His eyes were dark and so was his hair. I wanted to touch him.

When I got home, I had forgotten about his phone call, and worried only what I'd wear the next day. The Post-it note was stuck to the outside of my wallet. I saw it getting change for my roommate Marie, and almost groaned. Marie laughed.

"Go ahead," I warned. "Laugh. See who laughs last." I spanked her on her bare rear end as she danced away. I would miss Marie.

"Come on in," I said to Tom.

Tom walked in. He looked at my jeans and my tee-shirt. I had not dressed up for him. Marie, I knew, had her ear glued to the inside of her door.

"You here alone?"

I shook my head.

"Show me around?"

I showed him around.

When I was done, we sat down opposite each other on love seat and chair, and talked for an hour and a half.

"So, do I get the place?" he asked.

"The place is mine," I said, smiling.

"You know what I mean."

I shifted, but not out of discomfort. "Actually, I'd wanted another girl."

"A guy can protect you better," he said.

"From what?" I said, laughing, but he was right. Many times at night, being down here on the second floor, I felt unsafe. The patio door gave me frightmares.

"Please?" he said.


"I'll take you out to dinner."


"This Saturday night?"

This was fine for some back and forth banner, but then I said yes and he looked surprised.


I couldn't control my grin. He knew that I liked him.


Saturday night I wore blue dress slacks and a blue dressy blouse. Not fancy on the outside, but underneath I was. Underneath I wore a black push-up bra and black panties from Victoria's Secret. Brand new Victoria's Secret panties and bra. This, on our first date.

He picked me up at seven o'clock and we went to Red Lobster for dinner. How he guessed I loved sea food is a mystery to me, because I never told him that. Afterwards, we went to Ginger's Irish Pub on 7th Avenue, and drank shooters and beer. We shot pool.

I never drink. But I do shoot pool.

Growing up, I had four older brothers and no sisters. I shot pool from the age of nine, and sometimes I beat them all. Except my brother Michael, who was more interested in me then he was in pool. With him--when alone--I learned to play strip-eightball instead.

Michael was very good at pool.

At the table I beat Tom three times and let him beat me once. He was very good and not used to loosing to women. He was a little irked. I was a little drunk. At a few minutes to midnight, we left the pub.

In the parking lot, at his car, he unlocked the doors with a flick of his hand. He opened my door and held it for me as I turned to get in. I kissed his lips. He seemed surprised. I was being a tease.

"Tease," he said.

"I'm not teasing," I said.

Or perhaps I was. I was pretty drunk. Either way, he put his arm around my shoulder and I put my arm around his, and when I came away from his mouth later on, I could scarcely breath.

You should have felt my heart.

"Now do I get the place?" he asked.

"I still want a woman," I said, and then laughed. "Just not like that."

He played with the front of my hair and curled locks of it over my ear. I liked his touch.

"Maybe," I said.

He placed his hand on my breast.


At fifteen, I had size thirty-four breasts and my cup size was C. That's the largest I ever got. My weight is now steady at one hundred and ten pounds, and I wear size thirty-two. I am often embarrassed about that. I was embarrassed that night.

"They're nice," he protested as I removed his hand.

"They're small."

"So what?"

Incredibly, I determined he meant it.

"I'm just uncomfortable," I said standing between the rows of empty cars. "Let's get inside."

We got inside and he kissed me again. I kissed him back. He placed his hand on my breast and I didn't remove it this time. I let him go inside. I let him unlatch my brassiere. I let him undo the buttons on my blouse and I moaned when he sucked on my nipples. Then his hand found my thigh and moved between it and my other thigh . . . and it was time to leave.

I redressed myself and he snickered turning over the engine.

Come on, I thought. I have to straighten out. If anything, it added to my heat.

"Can you hear me now?" he teased.

"Stop it!"

Laughing, he got onto 34th Street and took the Queens-Midtown tunnel. I fumed all the way home. I was hot. No . . . what I was, was horny and bursting.

At the turnoff to my street, I said, "You're not coming up."

"I'm not?"

"No," I said. "You're not."

We both fought down laughter.



"Pretty please?"

We made out at my curb.

"Ummn," I said, finally freeing my mouth. He had his hand on my panties.

"You're coming up."

"I am?"

"You am."

He laughed as I straightened my clothes.

Inside, we made it past the closed front door and then went back to the closed front door. My back was pressed up against it.

"Ung, God," I moaned as he ground me with his erection. "I am so horny!"

He carried me into the living room, then down the hall to my bedroom. Marie was out of town.

"Do I get the place," he whispered.

"The place is yours."

"Including the bed?"

Oh, God. . . yes!

He put me down on my bed, sitting up, and unbuttoned my blouse. I went for his zipper.

"Take that out," he said, "and you have to suck it all the way."

I looked up, distressed and apprehensive. I thought that he meant it.

"I do," he warned and it made me shiver. I rubbed him instead.

When my blouse was off and he had my brassiere, I let him stand me up.

"I'm not--" I got out, before he shut me up.

His finger was in my mouth.

"Ethuse be?" (Excuse me?)


I sucked on his finger.

One-handed, he unbuttoned the top of my slacks, lowered the zipper, then let them fall off my hips. It took little work. They pooled around my feet.

Still with his finger in my mouth, I let him put the other hand down the back of my panties and hold my rear end. I was one step from madness.

"How long?" he asked.

"Voreber!" (Forever!)

"A guy? Or your roommate?"

I wanted to cry. "Vy Voovade," I said and he removed his finger.

"How long since a guy?"

A long time.

"A long time," I said.

He was silent a time, then he said: "I plan to fuck you, you know."

Oh, God . . . please!

"Please!" I said.

And then he fucked me.


"Ow," I moaned into my pillow, long, low and extended. I ached. No . . . I ached!

Beside me, Tom stirred on the bed. I couldn't move my hands, I couldn't move my feet. Both were immobile. I had never before been tied up.

"I ache," I protested. "No, I mean, I ache!"

Tom gave a little laugh.

"It's not funny," I whined, although it very well was. My ass felt like an exploded hand grenade.

"You want some more?"

"No!" I exclaimed, the absolute truth, and he laughed.

"I don't believe what you did to me."

He rolled over and placed his hand in the small of my back. It didn't hurt there.

"I have never been spanked before."

"You have now."

"I know," I said. And so humiliatingly. I lifted my head. "Please let me loose."

He shook his head.



"Why not?"

"I like you this way."

"Tom," I said, almost emitting a laugh, "we just met!"

His hand ran gently over my rear end. I felt the heat. I felt the sting. He put his fingertip in the top of my crevice and slid it down between my cheeks.

"Stop that," I said. "And let me up."

His finger entered my rectum.


"Raise your behind."

"No!" I exclaimed. So he raised my butt for me.

"Tom . . . this is degrading." I took a sharp intake of breath and looked back over my shoulder. No one had ever done that before either.

"What are you doing?" I said.

He removed his face. "I have to explain?"

I stared at him, aghast. "That's . . .that's . . ."

"Pleasurable?" he said.

"No!" Yes! "Stop it," I said.

He continued on.

When I was moaning and shivering some few minutes later, he got off his knees and squat low over my ass. I had never been done there before either. Not by a man. His hands spread my cheeks and he touched me on my anus with his cock and I violently shivered. I wanted this really bad. But I was being raped.

"Tom," I pleaded, "Please. No."

He held where he was. He was barely inside me. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

From his tone, I knew that he would. If I asked.

"Please," I said. "I've done enough."

Hadn't I done enough?

"I won't do this," he said, "unless you want me to."

Oh, God . . . I wanted him to so badly. But I said, "No, please. Let me up."

And he let me up.


I was at my desk one week later and on another case. My bottom had welts on it but no longer hurt. I no longer hurt inside. Then the telephone rang. I sat there and stared at it. It was three o'clock.

"Hello? Patricia Changuris."

"One last time. Yes, or no. I won't call again."

Please don't do this, I thought. This is so not fair. I asked him to hold.

"He won't you know," I slowly whispered, the handset under my chin. I was so depressed. I punched the flashing button.

"No," I said, and then I said, "Yes. But I won't have sex with you again."

But of course, that wasn't true and he knew it.


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