"Right here, David. Right here. That's tragic."
"So, what I'm saying is … ." David drawls to a silence for the first time.
"We're going to win this." I assure him, pouring a straight glass of whiskey from my bar cabinet. "You want me to make sure she goes down hard and I will."
"Get all the dirt you can."
"Dirt is my middle name." I immediately wince, because even I feel like a douche for saying it. "Get some sleep, David. I'll take care of everything."
"Fucking-a right."
He hangs up. I toss back the entire glass of whiskey and look down at the glass. I should bill David for it.
I boot up my laptop and resume an image search of Kate McArthur. It can take a while to sort through, but everyone tends to have dirty laundry on the internet if you look hard enough. My job is to look hard enough. I pour another whiskey.
Some fifty pages in, I find a series of topless photos from a beach trip six or seven years ago. Either David changed his hair and his whole damn uglyass face, or she was kicking it in Turks with another guy. Every last photo goes into the McArthur folder on my desktop. I'll have to cross-check the dates, but if I can get an established history of infidelity, it'll be a huge score on my part.
Most of the images are really too blurry to be of any use. I start another search for Kate in Turks and stumble across a jackpot: dozens of them, some with great views of her tits. One thing I never understood was how someone as fucking sexy as her ended up with a twat like David. Forget leagues, he's not even on the same planet as Kate McArthur.
I zoom in on one of the clearer photos. She's mid-laugh, flashing all her teeth and a set of dimples. Her hair is a mess, tits are in full view. They are my favorite kind of breasts: round, full, perky, with small pink nipples. They look like little old-fashioned candies you eat right off the paper.
Whiskey gone, dick hard, naked tits in front of me. Before I realize it, my cock is out and I'm fucking myself. I run a finger across her digital nipples, wondering if they'd be as sweet as they look. Her whole body was firm, tight, but looked soft enough to plow into.
I love fucking soft women. A quick mental picture of my cock sliding between those glorious tits and I am done for, shooting cum across my table and keyboard, involuntarily grunting louder than I had intended.
I save the photo in a separate, hidden folder on my desktop. For later. Just in case.
CHAPTER FIVE
KATE
Every week is a nightmare scenario. It's hard to remember it's only been a month since David demanded the divorce papers be rewritten, because time slips through my fingers like grains of sticky, terrible sand. Some days, it feels like only three days passed. Others, a lifetime.
Robolibrarian tries for a stronger hold on mediation this week. She's fielding questions, posing possibilities, establishing scenarios. My head hurts and I don't feel like playing along, so I don't.
Today, Eric the asshole lawyer and I are mentally involved in another series of compromising positions. I'm wearing a black leather bodysuit, crotchless for when I want him to touch me, and carrying a whip. Every time the real asshole says anything I whip imaginary him.
Dream Eric is tied to a chair, a ball gag dangling around his neck. I pick up the weight of it in my hands and let it drop against his Adam's apple. He winces and the words stop once more.
"Can we stop this pretentious bullshit?" Vivian says, her voice floating through my daydreams like an overhead announcement at the yoga studio. "We have a long-documented history of David's marital transgressions."
I smack Dream Eric across the cheek with the handle of my whip. He hisses as a sharp red mark blossoms across his cheek. I grin, watching the fear behind his eyes. His lip trembles.
"I'm sorry, Mistress." Dream Eric whispers.
"Little asshole," I grab a fistful of his dark hair and yank it back, exposing his throat. "You won't talk to me that way again."
"Yes, Mistress."
"There are no innocent parties in a divorce." Real Life Eric is talking again. Daydream Eric's mouth moves, but his voice is different, confident, cocky.
I really, really hate Real Life Eric. Especially for being so bloody sexy.
Bondage has never been an interest of mine before, it was something that always horrified me. David tried once, bringing home an arsenal of crotchless panties and a thick leather strap-on. I slept in one of the guest rooms, feigning the stomach flu to get out of it.
We didn't have sex for weeks after that. Our sex life was always terrible but that was a new level of awful I didn't want to explore. Now, though? Surrounded by this filth?
Bring it on.
But only with the hot lawyer, because the idea of sleeping with David ever again is enough to make my stomach crawl. Dream Me slaps Dream Eric across the other cheek. To prove a point.
My phone vibrates, pulling me fully out of the daydream. I don't check it right away, but look around to see what I've missed. Vivian and Eric look like they've forgotten we're even here. They are fully engrossed in their argument, pulling out pictures and scribbling notes on yellow pads.
Vivian's notepad, instead of drawings, is full of angry capital letters and heavy ink underlining words I can barely make out. Mediation has taken an abrupt turn, and I'm not sure how or why.
Robolibrarian's hair is as severe as normal, but her face is especially grim. It doesn't make me feel any better. Through this whole thing, even with her remaining angrily silent in previous sessions, I had the impression she was on my side.
I didn't do anything inherently wrong. Maybe I didn't use the crotchless panties and maybe I refused counseling the last time, but David and I had tried four other times in our marriage. Wasn't I allowed to say I wasn't comfortable with certain sex acts?
David is staring at me with a look I wish I could forget. He winks and lifts his phone slightly. My phone vibrates again, reminding me I have a text. My throat is dry when I unlock it under the table.
Wanna fuck after this?
I stare at it for a solid minute, my face a plastic mask of indifference, but inside I am roiling. The nerve! After everything that happened? He cannot be serious. We're in this stupid room because he liked to fuck anything with legs that wasn't me and he has the audacity to proposition me?
With a quick click, I lock my phone and pretend I didn't see it. Let him think I got a text from someone else. Entertaining that shit is out of the question.
I close my eyes and straddle Dream Eric. His whole body is tense and his face open. He's waiting for me to make the next move. Dream Eric wants nothing more than to pleasure me. I smack him with the whip again and a tear falls down his face.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," he whimpers.
"Sometimes sorry isn't fucking good enough, Eric." I pause, frozen by the words fresh from my lips. "I mean, Asshole."
"Yes, Mistress."
My lap vibrates. These distractions are becoming a real problem.
You look really sexy in that dress. You want me to fuck you in it. Right here on the table.
I repress a shudder and take a deep breath to still the churning in my stomach. Back in dreamland, I smack Dream Eric again. He likes it, though, his eyes hungry and desperate. I guess I can give him what he wants - just a taste.
I recline on the table and spread my legs. He pushes himself closer to me and drops his head between the black leather. Like a good little submissive, he looks to me for permission. I make him wait, make him smell me without tasting, and finally nod.
"You will put that dirty mouth to good use." I order him.
Vivian slams her palm down on the desk and I jump. Real Life Eric and David the Fuckface don't look shaken by it. Instead, they have almost matching wry smiles. They feel the upper hand. They feel me losing.
I, on the other hand, feel a panic attack bubbling in my chest.
"I think we are done here." Vivian neatly stacks her papers and notepads. She shoves them in her briefcase with a layer of cool that could betray even the most detail-oriented observer. "This is obviously not working. The point of mediation is to settle outside of court, gentlemen. If you are incapable of meeting us on anything, this just means we'll have to proceed. Your client needs to evaluate what this means for his career."
My phone vibrates again. I don't want to check it. David stares straight at me, waiting like a terrible lion. I stare back and rest my phone on the table. We never break eye contact as I recline in my seat and cross my arms.
The smile on his face wavers for a moment but he returns to his phone and pecks out another message. The phone vibrates again, rocking around the table. Vivian glances over, reads my phone, and turns a pointed stare at David.
"That's private." David says it with bite but keeps his face placid. It's a Hollywood trait we all learn quickly.
"I find it interesting, Mr. McArthur, that you are refusing to acknowledge how instrumental Kate has been to your professional career, and how important she was to you personally, while you are propositioning her via text message."
"I agree. I think we're done here." Real Life Eric stands and buttons his jacket. "Since your client is unable to see what she's requesting is outside the realm of rationality, we'll just need to take this to a judge."
"So it appears." Vivian stands and motions for me to follow. "Mrs. Crofton, thank you for your time."
Robolibrarian stands with the others but says nothing. Her face is unreadable beyond the frustration. She's a mirror of the storm swirling in my brain.