The sound of my doorbell woke me from a restless sleep. Grabbing my favorite white terry cloth bathrobe, I half stumbled to the window. Barry's car was parked at the curb. I closed my robe over my flannel PJs and slowly descended the stairs.

"Were you still in bed?" Barry asked as I opened the door.

"Good morning to you, too,” I snapped back at him.

He stepped inside and turned to face me as I closed the door and leaned against it.

"Margaret, you look like shit,” he remarked.

I frowned at his rude comment and then offered. "I just woke up and haven't done anything with my hair," I said, trying to comb it with my fingers.

"What's up with your hair?" he asked, staring at my blonde locks.

I half smiled at him, then replied, "Well, so much is changing in my life, I figured I'd change that too."

"I think it makes you look like a whore," he smirked.

My smile disappeared as I replied, "I don't give a rat's ass what you think."

As he turned and began walking toward the kitchen, I asked, "Speaking of whores, how's yours treating you?"

Barry stopped in his tracks and turned to face me again. His complexion brightened to a crimson red as he shot back, "She's got more passion in her little finger than you have in your whole fucking body."

I wanted to keep him pissed off, so I asked, "Did you schedule her boob job yet?"

Barry was never one to back down and instantly replied, "Nope, I'm tired of big floppy tits like you've got Margaret."

I wanted to tell him that those big floppy tits were going to earn me a ton of cash, but bit my tongue and instead asked, "So why the hell are you here anyway?"

"Came for the rest of my stuff,” he answered as he turned and began walking toward the garage.

"Good, once that pile of shit is outta my garage, you won't ever have to come back here again,” I answered.

"Don't be so sure,” he said, and then added, “I may want the house in the divorce settlement."

I was somewhat surprised at his comment. I had assumed he'd agree to almost anything to avoid a messy divorce and the implications that would have on his status with the firm.

But I angrily replied, "You've got a snowball's chance in hell of getting this house."

"We'll see about that,” he said as he picked up the first two boxes of his stuff and headed down the driveway.

"Close the garage door before you leave," I shouted at him, then closed and locked the kitchen door.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stood in the kitchen watching him load his belongings into his trunk and then drive off. Barry and I had such a good marriage until a few months ago. It almost seemed impossible that it could vanish in such a short time. I suppose my tears were an admission that our relationship was over, and that fact hurt almost as much as the fact that we were both cheating on each other for a long time.

I brewed a pot of coffee and, after pouring myself a cup, sat down and started up my laptop. Of course, the first thing I checked was my email. Big Daddy had replied to my report from the night before.

The subject line read, "Good Job!"

He wrote. "Angel, I knew you would successfully promote the company to the Senator-Elect. I expect your efforts will bring many new clients with very expensive tastes. To show my appreciation, I'll add a marketing bonus to your pay envelope this week. Take a day off and relax. I'll email you in the next day or so with details of your next appointment."

As I closed my email and shut down the laptop, my thoughts returned to Barry's threat that he may want to take the house. A day without an appointment would allow me to meet with an attorney.

The coffee was doing its job, and I began thumbing through the Yellow Pages, looking for a firm to represent me. After four or five pages of costly full-page ads, a small ad caught my eye. It was for a female lawyer named Laura Stevens. What caught my eye was the phrase, "Winning is the only option."

As I dialed the number, I wondered if Laura could win a divorce case against the mega-firm my ex would bring to the table.

"Good morning, Laura Stevens speaking,” a female voice answered.

I replied, “Good morning. My name is Margaret Jacobs. I'm seeking a lawyer to represent me in a divorce action."

"Divorce cases are my specialty,” she replied.

"Good. When can I come in to talk with you?" I asked.

"Let me see...How is two this afternoon?" Laura asked.

"Two is fine; see you then,” I answered before hanging up.

I ate a late breakfast, did a load of laundry, and then dressed in an ultra-conservative navy-blue business suit for my appointment with Laura.

Her office is in the low-rent district downtown, on the second floor of a building that must be over a hundred years old. The place smelled old and looked worn out. As I approached the door, I noticed her name, with the title Attorney at Law below, printed on a sheet of white paper and taped to the inside.

I opened the door and stepped inside. The reception area had two wooden chairs against the far wall: no receptionist and not even a sign to have a seat. I assumed the chairs were for clients, so I sat down.

I recognized her voice coming from the office down a short hall. She was apparently on the phone with another client, so I waited patiently.

"Hello, you must be Margaret," Laura said as she stepped from the hall.

"Yes, and you're Laura?" I asked.

"Pleased to meet you,” she said, extending her hand.

I stood up as we shook hands, and she motioned to the hall with her free hand. "Let's talk for a little,” she suggested as we walked to her office.

Laura looked young, very young. Her shoulder-length straight hair was parted in the middle of her head. She was wearing slacks and a blue long-sleeve sweater. A matching blazer hung loosely over the back of her desk chair.

"Have a seat,” she said as she sat down behind her desk and flipped to a clean sheet of paper on the legal pad on her desk.

"Let me tell you about myself,” Laura offered

"Okay," I replied, wondering all kinds of things about this youthful attorney.

She began, "I passed the bar four years ago and took a position with the local women in crisis bureau."

"I see," I said.

"After two years of constant work filing PFA's, I decided to start my own firm. None of the large firms in the area were interested in an attorney without any trial experience,” Laura offered.

"So, how many divorce cases have you handled since starting your firm," I asked.

Laura paused for a moment, then admitted, "I've handled three."

I smiled and then asked. "Did you win all three?"

Laura returned my smile and then said, "Two of the three, the third is ongoing."

I leaned back in my chair and unbuttoned my blazer. "I'm not sure you have the experience to handle my case," I said.

She pulled her chair closer to her desk and picked up a pen. "Why do you think that?"

"Well, my husband is an attorney; he works for a large firm here in town, and you'll be going against some of the toughest lawyers in the business," I said.

"I love a challenge," she answered. "My caseload is certainly small enough that your case would get my undivided attention," Laura added.

"Have you and your husband tried to work things out?" she asked.

I smiled and replied, "That's not happening. I want to rake the cheating bastard over the coals."

"So he cheated on you?" Laura said, making a note.

"Yes," I replied.

"And did you cheat on him?" she asked.

"Not that he knows about," I answered as she made another note.

"Well, if his firm is as good as you say they are, they will find out you cheated," Laura commented.

I liked her honesty and asked, "Can we claim his cheating forced me to do the same?"

"I doubt it," Laura said.

"Do you have a job?" she asked.

"Barry didn't think my having a job would help his status with the firm, so I was a stay-at-home wife for fourteen years, but I recently took one to support myself," I explained.

Laura smiled as she wrote another note. "That's a plus; he was your only means of support until you separated."

"What kind of job have you taken?" she asked.

I thought for a moment, then said, "I'd rather not say."

Laura dropped her pen and looked up from her notes. "Margaret, I must know everything about your life before and since the split. Lawyer-client confidentiality would apply even if you don't retain me."

"I've taken a job with an escort service," I admitted.

Laura sat back and brought her hand to her chin. "I see," she said.

"Well, we're going to have to keep that tidbit of information from coming out,” she said.

"It is a very discrete service," I offered.

"Let's hope so. That kind of detail can be a case killer," Laura remarked.

Laura and I spent the next hour going over the details of my case, and as she finished up, she asked, "So Margaret, would you like to retain me to represent you?"

I thought for only a few seconds before I answered, "Yes, Laura, I think you'll do an excellent job on my behalf."

"Very good!" she replied.

Laura slid a retainer form across the desk and said, "Just sign on the bottom line. That'll make us a team."

I signed and told her again that I was confident she'd do a good job.

"Call me in a few days," Laura said, then added, "I'll get the papers drawn up for your signature, then filed and served on your husband as soon as possible."

"Okay, I will," I said as I stood up to leave.

As I walked toward the door, Laura stopped me and asked one final question, "Can we do lunch sometime soon? I'd love to find out more about your line of work."

"I'd love to," I replied. "We'll set it up next time I call you," I added.

As I walked to my Benz, I wondered why this young attorney would be interested in, as she put it, "my line of work." Still, I knew many of her contemporaries had limitless discretionary money to spend, so I'd want to explore that possibility.

The afternoon rush hour traffic was beginning to build as I made the right turn out of the parking lot. Everyone rushing to get home or to their favorite after-work happy hour spot. I decided I'd stop for a cocktail since I was dressed like most of the conservatives leaving work.

The only place I knew on this side of town with a decent cocktail lounge was the Regency Hotel, and in a little more than five minutes, I was pulling into the parking garage. I gave the valet a healthy glimpse of creamy white thigh flesh as I slipped out of the Benz. His broad smile acknowledged he appreciated the view.

"I'll take good care of your car," he remarked as he handed me the ticket.

I smiled and replied, "Please do." Knowing he'd be studying my ass as I walked toward the elevator across the lot. Before the doors glided closed, I saw that he was still standing beside my car, confirming he had watched every move of my sexy hips and shapely legs.

I pressed the button next to the little sign "Good Fellow's Lounge" and smoothed my skirt over my thighs as the elevator rose to the second floor of the Regency.

Good Fellow's gets a pretty good crowd on Friday night when they have a DJ for their dance parties, but the happy hour crowd goes for the cheap drinks and free food, neither of which this place had. Walking into the dimly lit lounge, I only spotted two customers and one bartender. All three men were engrossed in conversation and hardly noticed as I strolled to the opposite end of the bar and slipped into one of the leather-covered bar stools.

I smiled when one of the men looked around the bartender and then motioned to him that he had another customer.

The bartender, a young, dark-wavy-haired Italian-looking stud, smiled widely at me as he approached. His bright white shirt stretched tightly across what I assumed was a pretty muscular chest; his smile was as brilliant as his shirt.

"Evening, Miss, what'll ya have," he asked as he stopped in front of me, and his long, perfectly manicured fingers came to rest on the inside edge of the bar.

I returned his brilliant smile with one of my own before I said, "I believe I'd like a Manhattan, please."

"Excellent," he replied.

Before he could turn to mix my drink, I slid my sexy fingers across the bar, letting them slide between his long digits. "Could I please have two cherries?" I said as I lifted my hand slightly and let his middle finger slip into my palm.

"Absolutely," he replied, before pulling his hand back and turning away from me.

I could see the two customers at the far end of the bar eyeballing me, and I gave them a quick smile to acknowledge the attention. "This could develop into a fun evening and, if I played my cards right, perhaps a profitable one.

Before the barkeep could return, I unbuttoned my blazer and crossed my legs, letting my skirt rise above my knee.

"Here's your Manhattan, Miss," he said as he placed the drink in front of me on a tiny cocktail napkin.

I noticed he had garnished my drink with three ripe red cherries. "Wow, three cherries," I whispered. "I just love juicy cherries," I quickly added.

He smiled but didn't reply, instead choosing to watch me as I lifted one to my lips and toyed with it using my soft lips and moist tongue.

"Don't think I've seen you here before, Miss?" the bartender asked after I'd munched on the first cherry.

I smiled slightly and answered, "Haven't been here before, but I like the way you treat your customers." As I spoke, I slowly unbuttoned the top button of my blouse and arched my back just a little. His eyes instantly dropped to the deeper v in my blouse.

I smiled and asked, "So I see you like ripe juicy things too?"

His grin confirmed that fact.

"Hey Frankie, how's about another round at this end of the bar?" One of the men seated at the other end said.

Frankie smiled and said, "Sorry, Miss Duty calls."

"Please call me Angel," I said just before Frankie turned to serve another round for the gentlemen who were feeling ignored.

Frankie mixed up a round of drinks and then stood facing them for a few moments. I could tell they were asking him questions that I assumed were about me.

While they talked, I took several healthy sips from my drink and enjoyed the second cherry. I watched as both men spoke with Frankie, who occasionally motioned with his hands as he spoke. The older-looking man kept leaning to the side to check me out. The third time he did that, I flashed him a broad smile.

Frankie nodded to them both, then turned and walked toward me. As he approached, I unbuttoned the second button on my blouse and used my index fingers to spread the fabric further open, exposing the top of my soft cleavage.

"How you doin' Angel?" Frankie asked, letting his Italian accent slip out a little.

I lifted my glass to my lips and finished my drink, letting the last cherry slip into my mouth as I drank.

"I'll be doin' better with another Manhattan," I replied in my best Italian accent after pulling the cherry from between my lips.

"The gentleman at the other end of the bar would like to buy your drinks," he said.

I licked at the cherry and then moved it down to the top of my cleavage. "And what about you? What would you like to do?" I asked

Apparently, my message was clear, or Frankie was the kind of guy who just said what was on his mind—either way, his response caught me by surprise.

He leaned closer and looked me directly in the eyes, saying, "I'd like to see the head of my cock where that cherry is right now."

Leaning back a little in my stool, and lifted the ripe red cherry to my lips.

"There, too," Frankie instantly said.

I sucked the cherry between my lips and chewed it up while I pondered my reply.

Leaning forward, I smiled and said, "Is it true what they say about the length of a man's fingers?" My hand slid to cover his four-inch middle digit.

"Absolutely! But what about the two guys down there?" he replied.

"Tell the two gentlemen I'd love to have them buy my drinks, but if they want anything more, it's gonna cost them a grand each.

Frankie's eyes widened as he realized I was a thousand-dollar-a-trick whore.

I quickly added, "But with fingers like these, I'll do you for free." My soft fingertips caressed his middle finger like it were a hard cock.

His broad smile acknowledged that even if the two other men declined, he'd be getting a hot piece of ass sometime that evening.

"I get off at six. Let me talk to those two and see if they're in," Frankie said before turning and moving down the bar.

As he walked toward them, I realized that if they agreed, it would be the first time I'd have a chance to feel hot cock in all three holes at once, and that fact excited me. I recalled craving that feeling the day before when the senator-elect and James were fucking me from either end.

I watched as the young Italian explained the proposition to the other two. The wide smile and approving nod of the one I could see confirmed that I'd at least be making a quick grand tonight.

Frankie turned and motioned for me to join them at that end of the bar; the broad smile on the other's face told me my craving for cock in every fuck hole would be satisfied also.

I slipped off my stool and slowly sauntered toward the trio of men whom I'd be pleasuring later, letting my sexy fingers slide along the back of each successive bar stool on the way.

Three pairs of eyes were glued to my form as I approached them, each visually undressing me as I moved.

The man closest to me slid over one stool, and as I rounded the end of the bar, he patted the stool he'd just slipped off.

Frankie began, "Angel, I'd like you to meet Gene and Ken," he said, motioning to each as he introduced us.

"My pleasure, gentlemen," I replied as I slipped onto the stool and crossed my legs.

"Let's have a round," Ken said as he tossed a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the bar.

Frankie began mixing drinks for us all as Gene turned slightly toward me, his knee making contact with the outside of my thigh.

"Ken and I are in town for the International Engineers Convention. We're partners in the biggest engineering firm in Spokane," he explained.

I turned my head toward him and smiled before asking, "So, you must have a great expense account?"

"Almost limitless," he instantly replied.

My smile acknowledged that I was in the company of two mega-wealthy men and that perhaps I could squeeze an extra grand or two out of them for my efforts.

Ken laughed out loud and then offered, "You should have seen this guy last night. He was tipping the strippers with c notes. They were on him like flies on shit."

I jumped at the chance to lay the groundwork for my squeeze and replied, "I like dancing for tips."

Gene laughed and then asked Frankie, "Where's the nearest ATM?"

Frankie had finished our drinks, and as he placed my second Manhattan in front of me, he said, "I can run any amount on your credit card and give you the cash right here."

Gene smiled and replied, "Good deal, dude."

As he spoke, I lifted the first of three cherries to my lips and proceeded to make love to it with my lips and tongue. All three pairs of eyes were glued to my mouth.

Ken was the first to speak, "You seem to have a very talented mouth, Angel."

My instant reply was, "The best on the planet."

Before I broke the cherry from its stem and chewed it while they watched.

After swallowing, I looked at Ken and said, "And I love having cock slip where that cherry just went." Letting them know that I expected a good throat fucking later.

For the next hour, the sexual banter and innuendo continued between the four of us. Frankie had to break away occasionally to serve drinks for the few customers who came in, but as soon as one glass was empty, he quickly mixed another. By six o'clock, I had finished four Manhattans and was feeling no pain. Ken and Gene seized every opportunity to brush against my body or lightly caress a silk-covered thigh.

By the time Frankie's relief arrived at six, I was not only wet between my thighs, but in my intoxicated state; I couldn't wait to have these three stuffing me full of hard cock.

Gene tossed his American Express card on the bar and said, "Run five hundred on this and give us a stack of twenties for later."

As Frankie ran the card, I threw back the last of my fourth Manhattan and, like before, let the final cherry slip between my lips. After swallowing, I pulled the cherry out and slipped it between my tits.

"Frankie wants to poke this with something long and hard," I announced, letting the two know Frankie would be first to tit fuck me in a little while.

Frankie returned with a stack of twenty-dollar bills and announced, "We're outta here."

As he headed for the break in the bar, Gene and Ken both slipped off their stools toward me. Solid bulges pressed into my thighs from both sides. I spun the stool around and accepted two hands to help me off the stool.

Together, the four of us headed to the exit and then down the hall toward the bank of elevators.