A Case for the Lawyer

Summary: A young lawyer finds a mysterious suitcase that helps her have a little fun...

*

For Elizabeth, that Friday had thrown up little in the way of surprise. She went to work, she dealt with her clients, she came home.

So far, so usual. Same old, same old, she thought on the train home. Oh, she thought, for something a little more exciting to shake up my routine.

She always felt this way on a Friday - something about the work week that seemed to drain the energy out of her, getting her ready for a weekend's relaxation.

Elizabeth arrived home, and carefully hung up her coat. She removed her heels, and then went upstairs to change into something a little more comfortable for lounging about.

And then, the first surprise of the day.

There was a small suitcase waiting on Elizabeth's bed - waiting for her.

For some reason, it didn't feel a source for concern, despite the fact Elizabeth lived alone. Oh, she allowed herself a moment's flight of fancy, for the day when I finally find a partner and come home to half-expected unexpected surprises like this. Sure, she'd get round to it, she thought, but she was just too busy with work at the moment. She was a lawyer, and she only noticed the rueful smile at how much work was interfering with her love life as it left her face.

She wasn't worried, either, despite the fact that case simply wasn't her style at all. It was gaudy, boasting a leopard-print design, and the scuffed wheels suggested that it had lived a long life.

No, that certainly didn't match Elizabeth's style.

As befitted her work, she was often dressed in business wear - pantsuits, blouses, pencil skirts, heels. She always tried to play it professional, although she'd be lying if she didn't also aim for a little bit enticing - a little bit sexy. She knew that those clothes hung tight to her thin frame, accentuating her bubble butt and her pert breasts. She chose darker colours as a contrast to her long blonde hair, and a touch of red lipstick - dark, but not too dark - to bring out her lips.

Sure, perhaps it was a bit cheap to amp up the sex appeal, she thought, but you had to use every weapon you had in the courtroom.

She allowed herself a small smile at the dual thoughts of her success and her sexuality - she was a couple of years away from 30, and she was rising through the ranks at one of the most prestigious law firms in the city. Everything was going so well.

So predictably well.

Eager to break away from dwelling on the monotony of her days, her mind forced her back into the room.

Or, specifically, it forced her attention back onto the suitcase.

Where had it come from, she wondered?

She stared at it, her focus solely on the suitcase, not sure what to do. And then, she stirred, and something in her body drove her to lean close and sniff it.

It stunk - a bad smell, a combination of old perfume, of smoke, of sweat, of sex. It was dreadful, and Elizabeth wanted to be sick. Her nausea even threatened to overwhelm a slight tingle down below - a pleasant, small wave of arousal.

Of anticipation.

Anticipation, she thought. Anticipation of what?

The solution was easy, she realised - she should just open it. God, she thought, with an astute legal mind like hers, it's amazing it took her that long to come up with that. Work must really have drained her, she thought.

Her hands reached out, slowly, approaching the suitcase with a feeling of mystery and - that word again - anticipation. Whatever it was, whatever the case contained, it was doing something to Elizabeth. Her brain was firing more than she'd ever known, and she could feel the beat of her heart, the sweat on her skin, the dryness in her mouth.

She touched the suitcase zip, and it felt like a spark of electricity had passed through her. Elizabeth paused, needing a moment to regain her breath, and she was conscious of a tingling between her legs, which seemed to ramp up every moment. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, needing a moment to force her attention back onto the matter at hand - if she didn't, she'd have given up on the suitcase and started playing with herself on the bed there and then.

Wow, she thought, I'm getting horny over a suitcase - I really need a man.

She took hold on the zip again, and slowly pulled it, unzipping the suitcase.

Could you sensually open a zip, she wondered? She was certainly trying.

And then, the big moment. Elizabeth licked her lips (god, I actually licked my lips, she thought), and she inhaled deeply.

She opened the case, and saw -

Clothes.

Her legal mind immediately wanted to rationalise. It was a suitcase - really, clothes were the obvious thing you'd expect to see. But this wasn't her suitcase, and these weren't her clothes - so where did they come from, she wondered.

She picked up the suitcase and flipped it, emptying the contents onto her bed.

The clothes fell out - well, she thought to herself, to the extent that they could be called clothes, she smirked to herself.

Elizabeth saw some very skimpy piecing of clothing. There was a black, wet-look mini-skirt (with emphasis on the mini, she thought), and a leather crop jacket. She saw a white tube top that would just about cover your breasts - if that.

It was a good thing the top was there, because Elizabeth didn't see a bra or any support anywhere. She did see some red panties, however, which were clearly dirty and well-used. She didn't want to touch them, but she could certainly smell them a way off, and she wished that she hadn't. They made a good match with the old, laddered thigh-highs - these were clothes that had been worn, and well-worn at that.

The most substantial piece of clothing was a pair of black, thigh-high vinyl boots with a definite heel. Elizabeth almost laughed at how surreal it was.

She saw a small clutch bag, and she opened it up.

Nothing too unexpected - some cheap make-up, some jewellery, some cigarettes, a lighter, a brown perfume bottle, some condoms... wait, condoms?

Something brought Sara to mind. She was a young prostitute that Elizabeth had represented in court a few months prior on exhibitionism charges, and she'd helped her walk free. Elizabeth immediately realised why she'd made that connection - when she first met Sara, sitting in her cell in prison, she was wearing an outfit that looked something like this.

Was this a prostitute's case, she wondered?

And if it was, what was it doing here?

She thought she should be worried, but she couldn't muster that feeling - her mind was telling her to relax, to not think too much about it, to deal with it later. And Elizabeth couldn't argue with that.

"This can wait," she said out loud to no-one in particular, "I need to eat."

She went downstairs and prepared a meal, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Much though she tried to think of something else - anything else - her thoughts kept drifting back to those clothes.

***

Elizabeth lay in the bath. It was a Friday night ritual of sorts - she lay there, a glass of red wine to her side and the room illuminated with the flickering glow of candlelight, and exhaled. She loved the feeling of warm water all around her, the way it helped her tensions just wash away. She could fall into a state of blissful nothingness - her mind was free, and the week's stress just vanished.

Where did those sexy clothes come from?

The thought suddenly appeared in her mind, but she wasn't surprised. No, it was strangely reassuring.

She realised that she'd thought the word 'sexy'. Elizabeth hadn't noticed it was she first saw them, but she realised the clothes were sexy. There was something about them - it was the used quality, she realised. Wearing skimpy clothes was one thing, but skimpy clothes with history.

Elizabeth thought about Sara again.

She'd been wearing something similar when Elizabeth first met her. Sitting there in that cell, dressed in a thin lime-green dress that was barely a dress at all, and thigh-high white boots. When she sat, it rode up, exposing her dark panties - it had to be by design, and Elizabeth couldn't help but notice.

There was something about this woman - she was young, maybe Elizabeth's age, with a brunette bob haircut that framed her beautiful face perfectly. She had a definite presence - she was confident and smart as well as stunning.

What could have driven her out onto the streets, Elizabeth wondered, this woman who should have had the world at her face?

And Elizabeth found herself thinking more and more about Sara's life. What would it be like to dress so scandalously, to flaunt her sexuality so publicly and to be available to anyone who could pay? To be trash, a cheap common whore with nothing to offer but her body? To be nothing more than a fuckdoll, her very body aching to be used and abused?

Elizabeth was suddenly aware of her hand between her legs, the intensity of her orgasm building as she thought about being a hooker.

And she could do it, she realised, if she borrowed the clothes on her bed.

That last thought drove her over the edge - she screamed as she came.

She needed this, she realised.

And she needed so much more.

***

Elizabeth stood there, dry and wrapped in her towel, and she smirked.

She was going to do it. She was going to let loose. All of those worries about where the case and the clothes had come from had vanished - Elizabeth was now being driven by her growing need to be fucked, if only to ease some of the swelling sexual tension in her body, and some voice in the back of her mind telling her this was the right call. This would be the spark she needed for a bit of excitement - this would kick her boring life right up its backside.

She removed the towel, folded it and carefully placed it on her radiator. Tonight she hoped to be dirty, but that was no reason to leave a mess at home.

Elizabeth stood in her bedroom, naked and turned on, and resisted the urge to play with herself again. No, she thought, if this works, it'll be worth the wait.

She sat on the bed, and was conscious of her heart rate picking up as she looked over the clothing.

She began with the thigh-highs, carefully sliding them up her legs. She never wore thigh-highs in her everyday life, and she'd certainly never have worn thigh-highs as ragged as this. She slid her hands down her covered legs, feeling for ladders, tears and holes (there were a few), and finding each one strangely exciting.

And then, the panties.

Her earlier apprehension and distaste had gone - now, she was strangely excited about the prospect of wearing this old piece of underwear. They felt unusual against her pussy - it tingled as the old panties made her feel well-used, and that powerful stench only added to that feeling. What stories could these panties tell, she wondered, and she unknowingly lipped her lips at the myriad of possible answers.

And, even more excitingly, what stories would she add tonight?

She pulled the microskirt up her legs, up around her waist, and caught her reflection in the bedroom mirror. With every movement, there was a flash of red from her essentially uncovered panties - the skirt was so small, so naughty, and that turned Elizabeth on even more. There was no dignity whatsoever - anyone who saw her would know what she was after.

She slipped on the tube top, and felt the material brush up against her nipples - they were hard, erect with anticipation about what the night would bring. Her breasts weren't the largest, but they struggled against the top, emphasising her bust.

She took time sliding the boots up her legs. She loved the feel of that cheap material in her hands, and against the thigh-highs - the top of the boots came to just below the underwear, and that tiny flash of lingerie amped up the sexiness again. Elizabeth saw a few specks of white on the boots - some tiny remnants of cum, perhaps? She tingled at the idea.

Elizabeth left the jacket on the bed for the moment - instead, she took the clutch bag and sat in front of her dresser mirror.

In her mind, she had an idea of how a cheap hooker should look, and it required a lot of make-up. She applied a thick coat of foundation, purple glitter eyeshadow, a thick layer of eyeliner, and she completed the look with a wetlook red glitter lip gloss. The jewellery completed the look - she slid the cheap rings onto her fingers, and put the large hoop earrings into her ears.

Elizabeth stood up from the dresser, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was something else, practically unrecognisable from the respected young lawyer. This was a woman who oozed sex, and wasn't ashamed of it. She looked ready to do anything for anyone - well, anyone who could pay.

She looked like a cheap whore.

Liz - the thought came from the back of her mind, and she liked it.

Yes, she smirked, this was Liz.

Oh, that smirk was sexy, she thought.

That was the smirk of a whore.

***

She had remembered where to go from her conversations with Sara. She worked in an area just outside of the main entertainment district - it was an area that wasn't officially a red-light district, but if you went down those roads, you knew what you weren't getting into. It was a place for a good time, and often a comparatively inexpensive one for the people who pulled up in their cars, looking for a good time.

Liz stood by a lamppost, illuminated by a dying flickering light.

A cigarette hung in her mouth - she smoked casually, effortlessly. Normally, Elizabeth wouldn't dream of touching cigarettes with a bargepole, but she wasn't Elizabeth tonight - she was Liz, a cheap, nasty whore, and smoking went with the territory.

She hadn't even realised she was smoking until the third or fourth drag, and she loved it - the feeling of inhaling that smoke into her lungs, how it made her feel sexy and a little aroused to pout her lips and breathe it out.

She took to it naturally - it was as if she'd done it before.

Liz wasn't standing there long before she saw a bit of action. And not just the action of cars pulling up to some of the other girls on the strip - no, it was her turn.

A beat-up-looking car pulled up next to her. Liz, cigarette hanging from her lips, bent down and looked into the open passenger window - a fat, grubby-looking man with a receding hairline peered back.

"Can I help you, love?" she said. She didn't know where the 'love' came from - the words slipped out naturally.

"Yeah," he smiled a gappy grin, "you can suck my cock."

There was something about how unpleasant he looked that got Liz tingling.

"That'll be twenty," she said, instinctively knowing that that was the right amount, "and I promise you the time of your life."

She heard the sound of the locks opening: "Get in."

Liz pulled the door open in a frenzy, and she scrambled into the passenger seat.

If there was a moment's doubt that she didn't know what to do, it vanished the moment she started performing. The man had already unzipped his trousers and pulled them down, as well as his underpants, leaving his semi-hard cock exposed. Eight inches, she thought - that'll do the job.

"Money first," she said.

The man grumbled, but reached down to the floor, to his jeans, and he found his wallet. He pulled out a crumpled note, and passed it to her - she stuffed it into her boot, and heard him lock the doors. But she didn't care - she turned her attention to the main event.

She took his cock in one of her hands, giving it a gentle stroke and delighting to feel a twitch of excitement. She followed up by lowering her head into his lap, taking his cock into her mouth. She started small, tickling the tip of his cock with her tongue and feeling it get stiffer in her mouth - she was getting as turned on as he clearly was.

The man was feeling it - he took hold of her head, and started forcing her to deep throat him. She took those inches like the pro she was pretending to be, barely even gagging.

"You like that, don't you, you fucking whore," he growled at her.

And she did - she really did. She grunted noises of enjoyment at him, and that turned him on even more. As she started tickling his balls, he tried to face fuck her, but he wasn't going to last much longer.

"I'm gonna cum," he growled, "I wanna cum on your fucking face."

Liz wanted that too, more than anything - she was too lost in the moment. She groaned as she felt the warm cum hit her face - she actually groaned. He groaned. There were both lost in the moment, and he broke it:

"You are a disgusting whore, aren't you?" He unlocked the car. "Well, fuck off then."

She climbed out of the car and watched him speed off. Without even thinking, she wiped her finger down her face and collected the cum. She sucked seductively, taking the cum into her mouth and swallowing it. It was delicious, and she needed more.

Another car pulled up, this driver much like the last.

"How much for bareback?" he asked.

Liz smiled - this was going to be a good night.

***

And it was. By the time the first hints of morning started to break through in the sky, Liz had been with a lot of men - and after ever fuck, she was back in her spot, looking for more. It was like something had been woken inside her - this wasn't just about money, no. It was about the sheer unbridled thrill of being fucked hard, and being fucked often, by any passing stranger who wanted it.

Liz started the night wanting to be a cheap whore - well, the night had delivered.

But now the night was nearly over, something else kicked in in her mind. The desire to be a whore had essentially faded, and she knew now that she needed to move.

Almost automatically, she started to walk. Her legs seemed to know where they were going, even if Liz's conscious mind didn't.

They took her to a dark, dingy-looking hotel. Something in her mind told her she'd been here before, so very many times, but it didn't matter. She was functioning on auto-pilot - heading further into the run-down building, making her way to one of the rooms.

Because she needed to - because a voice in her head was driving her.

It was here. Room 204, nothing special, nothing particularly fancy.

She knocked.

"Come in."

She opened the door, and Sara was sitting there, clad in a neon green minidress and little else. When Liz appeared, Sara smiled - she'd been waiting for her.

***

Liz sat with Sara, the prostitute counting her night's takings. Her body was in the room, but her head was slumped forward. She couldn't move - at the moment, she couldn't even conjure up the idea of moving.

It was the same routine, week in, week out, and Elizabeth's conscious mind was only remembering it all now. She swore she'd hold onto the memories this time - she remembered that she'd made that promise every Friday, and she never managed.

But this week - this would be the week.

She remembered how it had all started now.

She'd helped Sara free from court, and the young prostitute had insisted on taking her for a coffee to repay her. Elizabeth had said no, but Sara was very persuasive, and the lawyer realised that she wanted to be persuaded.

She was fascinated by the power of Sara's personality, and she wanted to know how Sara had wound up doing what she did.

They'd returned to Elizabeth's office - it was feasible that the lawyer would be speaking with her client there, and certainly preferable to being out in public socially with someone whose reputation (she'd learned) was well-known in the area. Sure, Sara was dressed respectfully today, a blouse, trousers and flats for her court appearance, but she'd brought along that suitcase - she'd need to change before she went to work.

"Fancy a smoke?" Sara asked, a pack in her hand.

"You know I don't smoke, Sara, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't smoke in my office."