Page 15 of Range
Beige.
Cream.
I didn’t bend the rules and regulations of theCourtroom Etiquette Handbookthat I’d written during my stretch in college. I applied the laws and principles I created to every aspect of my professional life down to my wardrobe.
On the first floor, the rules were more flexible. But there were still rules, nonetheless. Personal restrictions. Preferences. Barriers.
Because being a Childers was a restriction in itself, and free will was hardly a token for our experiences. Though we were taught it existed, and it was offered to us, we understood the importance of upholding our family’s core values. We didn’t take the bait.
We weren’t designed to. We weren’t wired to. Structure was our choice. And, remains the choice ’til the day.
Blindly, I grabbed a pair of black pants, silky to the touch. A buttery soft shirt felt incredible against my skin. And, lastly, a blazer. The pieces folded over my arm like a newborn after a feeding. All black and color-treated frequently to match in shade, no matter the piece or portion of my attire.
The thought of the gold accents of the Chanel briefcase led me toward the corresponding section in my closet. A handbag wasn’t necessary. But mules were. I grabbed the vintage black pair, compliments of Roulette.
I was convinced there was nothing she couldn’t find. Our closets were lined with her thoughtfulness.
“There.”
With everything I’d come for in my possession, I pressed the steel button. The elevator doors opened immediately.
Ping.
My journey to the first level was swift. The doors reopened, and I was welcomed into the carpeted space by the smell of vanilla and tonka. Piece by piece, I hung the threads on the sorting rack to the left of the full-length mirror.
My reflection halted my strides. I turned my lips inward as I straightened the curve of my spine and squared my shoulders. My head tilted leftward, furthering my inspection.
Satisfaction lifted me to the tips of my toes. My once tucked lips formed a smile as I smoothed my hands down my body. I noticed the roundness of my hips and the plumpness of my breasts.
Good dick will do it to you.
I tossed my head back in laughter, unable to take myself seriously. Still, the fact remained that I’d been getting dicked down consistently for the last few months, leading to a newfound confidence that only good dick could give you.
Now, for another shower.
I clenchedthe handle of my briefcase as I stepped into the court’s doors. Bypassing the line of defendants, prosecutors, lawyers, law students, and family members of the unlawful waiting to get through the metal detectors, I stopped in front of the five-foot-eight threat to his employer.
“Arms,” he requested.
Slowly, I lifted my arms, stretching them wide. The wand’s silence continued down my body, ignoring the compact Glock inthe ankle holster. Neither did it sound when waved across my briefcase holding its twin.
“Have a good day, ma’am.”
“You do the same.”
I didn’t give a damn about his day. It was his obedience that interested me.
Click.
Clack.
Click.
Clack.
Clark City Courthouse was crawling with humans. While their presence was disgruntling, I pushed forward. Their existence came with the territory. I’d accepted it many moons ago, but still needed to brace for impact when encountering the masses.
A flick of the wrist exposed the Rolex on my wrist. In three minutes, the judge would hear my client’s case. Inhaling deeply, I made strides toward Courtroom 06.
