Chapter One Wild Dreams
A wild woman needs no secrets.
Sitting on the red fender of the antique convertible in the center of the dance floor of the Torch Lounge at Seattle Young, waiting for the bidding. My sheer, low cut, high slit dress shows off deep views of my body. Four rich men take extreme liberties in where they touch me and what they suggest they might do to me. I hope the slim guy in the cashmere blazer wins. But I don’t care. The fat bald guy’s money is good. Whoever offers the most gets to lead me through the beaded glass curtain for an hour of beyond-the-line pleasure in the glass rooms.
“Ms. Deloit?”
The judge’s voice is sharp. I’ve missed a cue. Flashes of encounters from my night job are always distracting my attention from my day job.
I stand and answer, “Yes, your honor?”
The Honorable Mara McGrath gives me a strained smile, looks at me over the top of her eyeglasses, and raises an inquiring eyebrow.
Word is, she’s gay. It’s a pity she’ll never make enough money to afford a night at Seattle Young. Unless she wants to settle for the Sports Bar, which doesn’t fit her style.
The fat bald guy won the bidding. All he wanted to do was lie naked on his back and watch me kiss his enormous hairy belly while I bobbed up and down on his less-than-enormous cock. I brought him off fast, sucked him back to semi hardness, and gave him a long second ride, sitting on his tubby thighs and splaying my legs on either side of his head. He chewed my toes.
The judge asks, “Were you planning to ask the witness any questions, Ms. Deloit?” Her voice is oh so polite, a warning that I’m in her danger zone.
Dammit Laurie, keep your mind in the courtroom. I say, “Yes, your honor.” I walk to the podium between the two counsel tables. The cop who arrested my client for prostitution waits on the witness stand. He’s tall and muscled, with heavy lips and lazy eyes.
He’s thinking he’d love to arrest me, put me in the back seat of his squad car, drive to a deserted lane in the hills, and fuck me until I squeal. Since I’ve started my second career at Seattle Young, I’ve discovered an ability to read the nasty thoughts behind blank faces. Or I think I can, which amounts to the same. If only I’d been able to do it with Stephan, before he fucked me over.
I flip the pages in my trial notebook to my copy of the officer’s arrest report. I look at the officer and make my eyes big. In a soft voice I ask, “Officer, your report says you approached my client and asked her, Hey, baby, what do you do for a good time? ” The deputy district attorney stands. “Objection. Asked and answered.” Her objection is meant to throw me off my timing, and to warn the witness that I’m asking a dangerous question. I wonder what a high-ranking prosecutor like Angie White is doing in court on this minor case.
The judge gives me a raised eyebrow.
I say, “Inquiring to verify the exact words, your honor.”
She says, “Don’t fool around too long, counselor.”
“Yes, your honor.”
My black dress is tight in the right places. My shoes have two-inch heels. Compared to the costume I wear at Seattle Young, I’m wrapped a burka. But in the courtroom, this outfit reeks of sex.
The judge shoots me another get-on-with-it glance.
The cop on the witness stand eyes the judge, the prosecutor, and me. I can see why they made him an undercover vice officer. He comes off as the kind of insecure guy who’d go to a whore to prop up his ego.
I say, “Answer the question, officer.”
He asks, “Uh, what was it?”
“Your exact words, when you approached my client. Were they, Hey, baby, what do you do for a good time? ”
He says, “If that’s what my report says.”
I ask, “Aren’t there are different ways to say those words?”
He says, “I suppose. Yeah.”
“Trying a harmless pick-up line, or with a different emphasis, offering to pay for sex.”
He says, “I was not unduly suggestive toward
A wild woman needs no secrets.
Sitting on the red fender of the antique convertible in the center of the dance floor of the Torch Lounge at Seattle Young, waiting for the bidding. My sheer, low cut, high slit dress shows off deep views of my body. Four rich men take extreme liberties in where they touch me and what they suggest they might do to me. I hope the slim guy in the cashmere blazer wins. But I don’t care. The fat bald guy’s money is good. Whoever offers the most gets to lead me through the beaded glass curtain for an hour of beyond-the-line pleasure in the glass rooms.
“Ms. Deloit?”
The judge’s voice is sharp. I’ve missed a cue. Flashes of encounters from my night job are always distracting my attention from my day job.
I stand and answer, “Yes, your honor?”
The Honorable Mara McGrath gives me a strained smile, looks at me over the top of her eyeglasses, and raises an inquiring eyebrow.
Word is, she’s gay. It’s a pity she’ll never make enough money to afford a night at Seattle Young. Unless she wants to settle for the Sports Bar, which doesn’t fit her style.
The fat bald guy won the bidding. All he wanted to do was lie naked on his back and watch me kiss his enormous hairy belly while I bobbed up and down on his less-than-enormous cock. I brought him off fast, sucked him back to semi hardness, and gave him a long second ride, sitting on his tubby thighs and splaying my legs on either side of his head. He chewed my toes.
The judge asks, “Were you planning to ask the witness any questions, Ms. Deloit?” Her voice is oh so polite, a warning that I’m in her danger zone.
Dammit Laurie, keep your mind in the courtroom. I say, “Yes, your honor.” I walk to the podium between the two counsel tables. The cop who arrested my client for prostitution waits on the witness stand. He’s tall and muscled, with heavy lips and lazy eyes.
He’s thinking he’d love to arrest me, put me in the back seat of his squad car, drive to a deserted lane in the hills, and fuck me until I squeal. Since I’ve started my second career at Seattle Young, I’ve discovered an ability to read the nasty thoughts behind blank faces. Or I think I can, which amounts to the same. If only I’d been able to do it with Stephan, before he fucked me over.
I flip the pages in my trial notebook to my copy of the officer’s arrest report. I look at the officer and make my eyes big. In a soft voice I ask, “Officer, your report says you approached my client and asked her, Hey, baby, what do you do for a good time? ” The deputy district attorney stands. “Objection. Asked and answered.” Her objection is meant to throw me off my timing, and to warn the witness that I’m asking a dangerous question. I wonder what a high-ranking prosecutor like Angie White is doing in court on this minor case.
The judge gives me a raised eyebrow.
I say, “Inquiring to verify the exact words, your honor.”
She says, “Don’t fool around too long, counselor.”
“Yes, your honor.”
My black dress is tight in the right places. My shoes have two-inch heels. Compared to the costume I wear at Seattle Young, I’m wrapped a burka. But in the courtroom, this outfit reeks of sex.
The judge shoots me another get-on-with-it glance.
The cop on the witness stand eyes the judge, the prosecutor, and me. I can see why they made him an undercover vice officer. He comes off as the kind of insecure guy who’d go to a whore to prop up his ego.
I say, “Answer the question, officer.”
He asks, “Uh, what was it?”
“Your exact words, when you approached my client. Were they, Hey, baby, what do you do for a good time? ”
He says, “If that’s what my report says.”
I ask, “Aren’t there are different ways to say those words?”
He says, “I suppose. Yeah.”
“Trying a harmless pick-up line, or with a different emphasis, offering to pay for sex.”
He says, “I was not unduly suggestive toward
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