Chapter 4: Professional Development
The email arrived on a Tuesday morning, sandwiched between a notice from the state bar and a promotional offer for overpriced legal software. The subject line was pristine: Re: Potential Mentorship Opportunity. Rio’s cursor hovered. The sender address was a sleek, anonymous string of initials and numbers, but she knew. The knowledge was a cold trickle down her spine.
She opened it.
The body was a masterclass in corporate blandness. ‘Following up on our conversation at David’s celebration. I was impressed with your credentials and believe I could provide valuable guidance as you navigate your early career. Please find my available times for a preliminary discussion attached. Warm regards, Agatha.’
The attachment wasn’t a calendar file.
It was a photograph, high-resolution and startlingly clear. The marble bench in the steam-shrouded bathroom, water beaded on its slick surface. Empty. But it wasn’t just a photograph of a bench. It was a crime scene photo. A monument to what had happened there. No message, no explicit threat. Just the image, loaded and humming with intent.
Rio deleted the email. Then she emptied the trash folder. She leaned back in her creaky office chair, the sterile light of her cubicle feeling suddenly thin and cheap. Her heart wasn’t pounding; it was beating a slow, heavy rhythm of inevitability. This was the summons. The ‘proper talk.’
She replied, accepting the first available slot.
The building was a silent blade of glass and steel. Rio’s heels clicked a solitary rhythm across the vast, cold lobby floor, echoing up into the vaulted ceiling. The ride in the private elevator was smooth and soundless, her own pale reflection staring back from the polished brass doors. When they slid open, there was no receptionist, no bustling floor. Just a hallway of deep pile carpet and the quiet hum of exclusion.
Agatha’s office door was a slab of dark, rich mahogany. Rio raised her hand, knuckles poised to knock, but the door clicked and swung inward before she made contact.
Agatha stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the immense cityscape behind her. She wore a tailored pantsuit of charcoal grey, her hair a severe, perfect knot. She looked less like a lover and more like a sovereign.
“Rio. Punctual. I appreciate that.” Her voice was dry, professional. She stepped aside. “Come in.”
Rio walked past her, catching the faint, devastating scent of jasmine under notes of crisp linen and ink. The office was a sanctuary of controlled power. Burgundy velvet drapes, shelves of leather-bound books that looked read, not just owned. A vast desk of the same dark wood as the door, its surface holding only a closed laptop, a crystal decanter of amber liquid, and a single file folder.
“Please, sit.”
Rio moved toward one of the two elegant chairs facing the desk.
“Not there,” Agatha said, her voice slicing the air. She gestured instead to a small, intimate seating area by the windows: a low velvet sofa, two armchairs, a table between them. “This is a conversation, not an audit.”
Rio changed course, perching on the edge of the sofa. Agatha moved to the decanter, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a heavy glass. She didn’t ask if Rio wanted any. She simply brought it over and placed it on the table before taking the armchair opposite. She crossed her legs, watching.
“So,” Agatha began, folding her hands in her lap. “The bar exam. Congratulations. A formidable feat. What area of law calls to you?”
Rio blinked. The normalcy of the question was disorienting. She reached for the whiskey, needing the burn. “Corporate litigation. Fraud, mostly.”
“Ambition. I like it. It’s a dirty field. You’ll need a strong stomach.” Agatha’s eyes, the color of weathered slate, swept over Rio’s simple blouse and skirt. “And a strong spine. Do you have one, Rio?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it.” The words weren’t a challenge; they were a simple command. “Stand up.”
A current of electricity shot through Rio’s limbs. She set the glass down, the clink too loud in the quiet room, and stood.
“Come here.”
Rio took the three steps to stand before Agatha’s chair. Agatha didn’t touch her. She just looked up, her gaze analytical, possessive.
“You’ve been thinking about it,” Agatha stated. “The shower. My hands on you. My mouth on your cunt. You’ve replayed it. Touched yourself thinking about it. Haven’t you?”
Rio’s throat closed. She gave a faint, jerky nod.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Rio swallowed. “Yes, I’ve thought about it.”
“And what did you think about, specifically? The moment you broke? Tell me.”
The explicit demand, delivered in that cool, boardroom tone, unraveled something in Rio’s chest. Heat flooded her, shameful and acute. “When you… when you pinned me to the wall. When you told me to be quiet and I couldn’t be.”
A ghost of a smile touched Agatha’s lips. “Good.” Finally, she reached out. Not to pull Rio close, but to gently, almost delicately, trace the line of Rio’s collar where it hid the faded bite. “I left a mark on you. I wanted to. I want to see it.”
Her fingers went to the top button of Rio’s blouse. Rio stood, paralyzed, as Agatha undid the first button, then the second, the third. She pushed the fabric aside, baring Rio’s shoulder and the top of her lace bra. The bite was there, a faint, yellowish bruise with the clear, half-moon impression of teeth.
Agatha leaned forward and pressed her lips to it, a soft, shocking kiss on the bruise. Then her tongue flicked out, tasting the skin. Rio shuddered, a full-body convulsion.
“You’ll be taking dictation today, counselor,” Agatha murmured against her skin, her breath hot.
Before Rio could process the words, Agatha stood. In one fluid motion, she took Rio’s arm and turned her, guiding her firmly away from the sitting area, toward the massive, polished desk.
“Bend over. Hands flat on the surface.”
The command brooked no hesitation. Rio obeyed, leaning forward until her palms met the cool, smooth mahogany. The city sprawled beneath her, a dizzying panorama of tiny lights and moving cars. Her skirt tightened across her hips.
She heard the soft rustle of fabric behind her. Then Agatha’s body was pressed against her back, one hand splaying possessively on Rio’s stomach, holding her in place. Agatha’s mouth was at her ear.
“You wanted a mentor. This is where it starts. You learn by doing. You learn by feeling.” Her other hand gathered the material of Rio’s skirt, hiking it up slowly, revealing the backs of her thighs, the lace of her stockings, the plain black cotton of her panties. “The first lesson is about leverage. About applying pressure where your opponent is most vulnerable.”
Agatha’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Rio’s panties and pulled them down, roughly, to her knees. The cool office air hit Rio’s exposed skin. She whimpered, pressing her forehead against the wood.
“You’re already wet,” Agatha observed, her fingers sliding through Rio’s folds with clinical precision. “Soaked. Is this for the mentorship, Rio? Or is it for the woman who fucked you in your boyfriend’s bathroom?”
Rio couldn’t answer. Agatha’s finger pushed inside her, deep and without ceremony. It wasn’t a caress; it was an invasion, a claiming. Rio cried out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the slick desk.
“Quiet,” Agatha hissed, her voice dropping to a low, vicious rasp. “This isn’t a party. This is work. Now spread your legs wider.”
Tears of humiliation and raw arousal stung Rio’s eyes. She shifted her feet apart. Agatha added a second finger, stretching her, the burn exquisite. She pumped them slowly, deliberately, the sound obscenely loud in the silent office.
“You have a smart mouth. A bratty temperament. I find I enjoy breaking that down.” Agatha’s fingers curled, scraping a spot inside that made Rio’s vision whiten. A choked sob escaped her. “There it is. That’s your leverage point. Remember it.”
Then the fingers were gone. Rio heard the flick of a buckle, the whisper of a zipper. She tensed.
Agatha didn’t enter her slowly. She used her hand to guide herself, the broad, smooth head of her strap-on nudging against Rio, then pushing in with one relentless, steady thrust.
Rio screamed. The stretch was immense, a blinding fullness that tore the air from her lungs. She was pinned, impaled on the desk.
“Fuck,” Agatha breathed, her own composure fracturing for a second. She held herself deep, letting Rio feel every inch. “That’s it. Take it. This is what you came for, isn’t it?”
She began to move. Hard, measured strokes that rocked Rio forward with each thrust. The desk creaked in protest. Agatha’s hand clamped on Rio’s hip, fingers digging in, sure to leave new bruises. The other hand fisted in Rio’s dark hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine.
“You think you’re so clever,” Agatha grunted, her rhythm increasing, becoming punishing. “You think your degree makes you powerful. It doesn’t. This is power. Knowing what someone truly wants. Knowing how to give it to them until they forget their own name.”
Rio was fragmenting. Each drive into her hit that same devastating spot, a lightning storm of sensation that burned away thought, pretense, identity. She was just a body, being used masterfully. Pleasure coiled, tight and merciless, in her gut.
“Come on,” Agatha snarled, her pace turning brutal, frantic. The slapping of skin against skin, the slick, wet sounds of penetration, filled the room. “Come for me. Show me what a good learner you are.”
It was the permission, the filthy, demanding tone, that shattered Rio. The climax ripped through her with violent, silent intensity, her body seizing around the hard length inside her, waves of pleasure so acute they felt like pain. She shook, muffling her cries against her own arm.
Agatha fucked her through it, relentless, until with a final, deep grind, she stilled, her own breath ragged against Rio’s neck. For a long moment, they stayed like that, joined over the desk, the city lights blurring below.
Slowly, Agatha pulled out. Rio gasped at the sudden emptiness, her legs trembling. She felt exposed, raw, dripping.
Agatha stepped back, adjusting her clothing with swift, efficient movements. She walked to the decanter and poured another whiskey. She came back and placed the glass on the desk next to Rio’s shaking hand.
“Lesson concluded,” Agatha said, her voice returning to its composed, cool register. She picked up the single file folder from her desk. “Your homework. A pro bono case. A woman being crushed by her husband’s corporate legal team. It’s unwinnable by conventional means. I want to see how you think. How you fight when the rules won’t help you.”
Rio pushed herself upright, wincing, fu