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The Law Clerk

By: TexasDomme1986



It's all come down to this.

You slaved away school—okay, maybe you played a little the first year, but not much at all the second—and you couldn't be blamed if the legal market slumped during your second year. Clerkships became harder and harder to get, and you were lucky to land the one you got. The interviews for this mid-size, urban firm seemed really tough, and the one with the managing partner was excruciating. You did everything the career services people told you: suit, multiple copies of resumes, answered the questions exactly like you'd been told, and she still didn't seem very impressed.

Oh yes, it was very definitely a female managing partner. Late forties, attractive, stacked, with long legs tucked into a snug pencil skirt and ending in tall stilettos. She swept into the conference room for the interview flanked by two younger attorneys, both male, and took over the room. She didn't intimidate as much as dominate. She was clearly in charge, but she didn't speak much. The other attorneys asked most of the questions, and you answered them as best as you could, but as the hour went on, you felt more and more like you weren't pleasing her—and you so desperately wanted to. When you answered one question and it seemed like she disapproved of your answer, your heart pounded and you backtracked until you got to an answer she seemed to like, and your heart eased a bit.

You knew you'd blown the interview, but no, you got an offer for the summer clerkship, and you started working the Monday after finals were over. And it was insane. You didn't know anything, and they expected you to know things, to be able to research and write and have opinions about things you'd never even heard of a few hours before.

And Her.

There were other women at the firm, of course, but they all seemed to pale when She walked in. She didn't dress in the drab dark suits the other women seemed to prefer, but would wear close fitting dresses or wide legged trousers and men's dress shirts that hugged Her curves. And heels. You could always hear Her in those heels, sweeping in and taking all the oxygen out of the room, until you didn't know if you loved Her or hated Her, asking questions and challenging you, never letting you relax, keeping you on the edge of your seat, keeping you hard.

Because you were always hard around Her. No matter that you sometimes hated Her for making you feel insecure about your work or your position, She always aroused you, always excited you, always made you feel alive.

And for eight weeks, you'd struggled and worked and tried to impress, even drinking with the associates at night and then having to go to work on only four or five hours of sleep (because they could come in late in the morning, damn them), all to hopefully get an offer of employment after law school in a firm you weren't even sure you wanted to work for. Because the loans were mounting, and third year and graduation were looming. And now here you sit, with Her. And She will decide, finally, if you are going to get an offer.

She sits across from you at Her desk, a table desk that gives a full view of Her legs, Her bare legs with the black stilettos you love so much, one crossed over the other with the shoe dangling and Her leg swinging gently as She talks on the phone. She isn't rude about it, but the longer you sit there watching Her, the more obsessed you become with that swinging leg, and it's harder and harder to sit there without squirming.

Finally She hangs up the phone and for a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, before She pulls out a file with your name on it, opens it, and begins to peruse what you know now is your clerkship file.

Your heart begins to pound as She slides on her reading glasses—who knew that would turn you on?!—and reads what some inane junior partner has decided to pen in the folder that holds your future. You watch Her face (at least that's distracted you from Her legs) and hope that you can read Her expressions well enough to run if She decides to throw you out, but it's impassive and impossible to decipher.

Finally, She closes the folder and puts it down on the desk, places Her glasses next to it, and folds Her hands on Her lap. And simply looks at you.

Someone has to break the silence, but your mouth is suddenly dry and there's a huge lump in your throat and you can't think of anything to say even if you could force words around the thing that used to be your tongue.

She sits there, looking at you, a considering look on Her face, and you feel yours flame in response, as She gazes at you. You're finally realizing that perhaps She is waiting for you to speak when She turns back to her telephone and makes an internal call. You aren't sure if She's summoning security to escort you out, but She simply asks someone to come in.

And then the two of you go back to staring at each other, but this time the silence is taut and tense, because you know you're waiting for something, but you don't know what. And when the door opens and someone comes in, you're so mesmerized by Her stare that you can't even break it to look to see who She's summoned.

But he comes to stand at Her desk, and you realize it's one of the other partners in the firm, a huge silent man who was with Her in the initial interview, but never attended any of the firm functions or social gatherings that you and the other clerks were dragooned into attending. He stands by Her desk, looking impassively at Her, not at you. But She is still looking at you, now with a little smile hovering at Her lips. And then She speaks.

She tells you that your partner in charge was impressed with your work ethic and your abilities, and notes that, after a few years of training and development, of course, you will be an asset to the firm. It takes a moment before you realize that all this is complimentary, because you've been so sure that She didn't like you, that She disapproved of you. But no, She's telling you that She's noticed your hard work and your skills, and She wants to do some of your training Herself. 

If, She adds, you want to join the firm. 

And the hope is rising, bubbling up in your chest until you hear the rest of Her sentence: And if you pass Her test.

She's stopped talking now, and you wish desperately that She would continue, because you're still speechless, still unable to force words past the lump in your throat. But when you finally do, you realize you're insane, because instead of asking Her about Her test, your willful mouth just says Yes, Yes, I will, Ma'am, but it seems to be the right answer because for the first time, you see Her smile, a full beautiful smile, proud and approving, and the wings in your shoulders sprout—they must have, because you're floating above the floor and you're so, so happy.

And when She comes around the desk to shake your hand, Her touch is so warm that it's everything you can do not to drop to your knees and kiss Her hand like those corny guys in old movies. But She is leaning in now, leaning in close, and the scent of Her fills your nose and mouth and you can't breathe for the essence of Her that's in your chest. But She has a disclaimer for you: You have a place at the firm, no matter what—nothing today will change that—but if you want to work directly for Her, you have to show Her your utter, absolute loyalty. You have to show Her that you will give Her your all, that She will come first. And now—NOW—your traitorous throat has given up a Yes, Yes Ma'am, and without even knowing what the test is, you're assuring Her that you will pass it.

And Her approving touch on your shoulder makes your heart pound painfully in your chest, and, as She passes by to go and lock the office door, you wonder why your knees are shaking like a newborn calf's.

And then She is back, and Her hand cups your face and for a moment, you lean in as She kisses your cheek in an almost motherly fashion, and it feels so good you almost want to faint. But you don't. She puts Her hands on your shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes, and then She slowly pushes you down onto those shaky knees. For another long moment, She lets you lean into Her and rest your head against Her, but all too soon, She moves away, and the male partner steps into the space She leaves. And he is right in front of you, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his dress pants, and you know—you know—what is about to happen. He reaches into his boxer briefs and pulls out his cock, and it's huge, bigger than any you've ever seen close up—actually you've never seen any cock close up, but it's very big—and you don't know why, but your mouth is beginning to water a little, and then Her hand is under your chin, and She raises your head just a little and you hear Her voice, telling you to open, and, of course, you do.

And then his cock is sliding into your mouth, and your first thought is—it's warm—and then you realize how crazy that is, that the first time a cock is in your mouth, all you can do is take its temperature, but then you're overwhelmed by sensations, all at the same time. How submissive you feel, how dominated by not just the man attached to the cock in your mouth, but by the Woman standing beside you, Her hand on your head as you become a willing receptacle for the big cock in your mouth. 

And because you want so badly to please Her, you use your mouth to pleasure him, doing everything you can remember a woman doing to your own, much smaller cock, swirling it around in your mouth, licking the underside of the head, sliding your mouth all the way down until you can feel his balls bounce against your chin as he slides in and out of your mouth. And you are lightheaded with the nature of this act—the supreme dirtiness of what you're doing. Your own cock is hard in your dress pants, and you can feel a wet spot forming in your underwear as you grow ever more aroused. And then he is holding your head still as he fucks your mouth, fucks it harder and harder, and you can hear him groaning, and something else: You can hear Her Voice, talking to you, telling you what a good boy you are, telling you how proud She is of you, how much She is looking forward to you working with Her, and how well you will fit into the firm. And every single stroke into your throat is worth it for that Voice, and your heart swells just as your cock does, in grateful ecstasy for Her approval. You could do this, you think, could do it forever, just for Her. 

And then he is cumming in your mouth, cumming hard down your throat, and you're choking and gagging and tears are streaming down your face, but it's not a bad thing, not a bad thing at all. And when he pulls out, his warm cum dripping down your chin, your mouth feels empty and useless, and as She pats your head approvingly, you wonder at that, how you could miss something you didn't know you needed a few minutes before...