I'm the guy who likes to think they have their life in check. I've always been ambitious; I had my future mapped out early. That's what you get when you're raised by a family of lawyers.

I graduated with first-class honours in law and landed a job at a prestigious law firm. Of course, I could stay within the family practice, but that wouldn't have been a challenge. By the age of thirty-two, I'd become known as one of the best barristers in England — an accolade to treasure and wear like a considerable badge.

My circle of friends is varied. Some work in the same field, and then there are my other friends, the folk who don't live on the right side of the law. They're not only handy friends to know; they're my bread and butter. And champagne.

You see, preventing someone from twenty years stretch in prison keeps me in my accustomed lifestyle. My connections ensure that the streets are still paved with naughty people, but the law is less cut-and-dried than many think. Some people don't mind paying my fee to ensure their freedom.

I don't look like the typical barrister. At least, that's what I've frequently been told by the women I pick up in seedy bars. They say I look "too rough and ready" to be in my profession. They reckon I'm more suited for a fluorescent vest and hard hat than a black cloak and wig.

I've been likened on more than one occasion to Tom Hardy, and truthfully, that does not harm my popularity with the female jurors. I'm not stupid; I know how to play the jury like the proverbial fiddle, and if a bit of flirting and a few intense stares get me — and, more importantly, my client — the result we want, who cares?

'You like all that poncing about in a cloak and wig, don't you?' my client Dominic said one evening as we drank in a particularly seedy bar in the bowels of Manchester.

'Court is like a theatre, Dom.' I clinked my beer bottle against his. 'Cheers.'

'What d'you mean?' He raised his eyebrows, creasing his forehead with several lines.

I took a long drink, enjoying the cold fizz at the back of my throat. I wiped a hand across my mouth and burped. 'Excuse me… umm, I prepare for court like an actor prepares for the stage. It's all an act, Dom, a competition as well. I'm not really interested in what crime has been committed. None of us are, not really.'

I took another swig from the bottle.

'Of course, we purport to care, but, at the end of the day, it's all about winning for most of us. It means putting someone behind bars or keeping them out of jail - it's that simple. As you know, I win nine times out of ten with my connections.'

Dominic finished off his beer in one colossal slug. 'Well, make sure you keep Ted out of jail tomorrow. That's all I'm asking because that bitch Chloe Klein has a right old reputation.'

'Don't you worry about Chloe,' I said. 'I know exactly how to deal with her. '

'Make sure you do, mate.' Dominic stood up and rifled his pockets for the cash for our next round of beers. I watched him walk to the bar, his body cumbersome, his brain even thicker.

The fact of the matter, dear people, members of the jury, and whoever else might be interested, is that Chloe has the hots for me. Now, she isn't exactly pretty, certainly not as pretty as my dear wife, Samantha. But she looks horny and has such a confident air about her that I believe she knows exactly what to do in bed. Who can resist that?

However, fucking Chloe in bed isn't my aim.

If all I wanted was the missionary and the occasional half-hearted suck, I'd stick with Samantha. My wife is beautiful, sweet, and the quintessential homemaker — but, oh God, she bores the shit out of me between the sheets. And she knows it.

She's aware that she can't and doesn't accommodate my voracious sexual needs, so she turns a blind eye to my activities. Well, almost. I must tell you that she has a weird kink: she likes me to video myself fucking my conquests and then send it to her. Apparently, she watches and masturbates in the privacy of our bedroom. Weird, huh?

I'm sure you will agree that this predilection is a turn-on. I guess it could be said that I'm an all-around performer, an actor in court, and, I like to think, a porn star outside of it.

That evening, after sharing beers with Dominic, I journeyed home, my mind ticking with thoughts of Chloe. I needed to win the case the next day, thus keeping Ted the Dead Head out of jail because I had a hundred grand and my reputation riding on it.

If I lost, my kudos with the underworld would be seriously affected. I needed to ensure success, and as I turned the key in the front door, I knew exactly how to guarantee a win-win situation.

**

I arrived at court early the next day. Whenever Chloe was on a case, she was the proverbial eager beaver, and I'd also heard rumours that she wasn't opposed to fucking the odd judge or two.

Walking into the grand foyer, with its stained-glass windows and polished floor, I spotted Chloe talking quietly but animatedly into her mobile phone. Walking to her, I leaned against a wall and flashed one of my most disarming smiles.

'Look, I have to go, Louis,' she said, abruptly ending her conversation.

'Oliver.' She coolly extended her hand. 'Good luck today… I have a feeling that you're going to need it.'

I smiled. 'I doubt it. I think I have this case in the bag, so to speak. But we can never say never, can we, Chloe?'

She grimaced and flicked her hair across her shoulders. 'I wish I had your confidence, Oliver,' she replied icily. 'Then again, not all of us take backhanders. Some of us like to win fairly and square and ensure justice is done.'

'Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten that's why we're here in the first place. As legal adversaries go, you are one of my most threatening. Your performance at the McDonald's trial last month was impressive. You're making a name for yourself; I'll give you that.'

I watched as the iciness in her façade started to melt. Maybe Chloe wasn't an ice queen after all.

'Why thank you, Oliver, that's very gallant of you.'

'I like to give credit where credit is due, and you look beautiful today. I've often wondered what you wear under your cloak. I appraised Chloe's cleanly cut charcoal grey suit, tailor-made.

'Now you know. What else do you think I'd wear?'

I looked at her intensely, pausing long enough to create tension, 'Oh, I can't tell you that, Chloe or you might accuse me of letting my imagination run away with me.'

I watched her mouth curve into a huge smile. 'Are you flirting with me, Mr Cohen?'

I shook my head. 'No, I wouldn't do that, Miss Klein.'

'Ms,' she hissed.

'Sorry, Ms Klein. Shall we grab a coffee? We're not due in for another couple of hours.'

'I'm intending to do some last-minute preparations. That's why I'm here so early.'

Christ, she was making this hard work.

'Oh, come on, a quick coffee and a chat won't harm us, surely?'

Chloe's forehead furrowed while she considered my offer. She looked at her wristwatch and then back at me. 'Okay, I guess a coffee wouldn't do any harm. But, if you think for one minute you'll delay me and throw me off course, you're sadly mistaken. I'm determined to win this case.'

'There's nothing wrong with having a little determination,' I said, putting a hand on the small of her back. 'I personally find it an admirable trait.'

We ordered coffee, and within twenty minutes, I had Chloe laughing at an anecdote about a peer I'd saved from going to prison. I noticed that when my foot touched hers under the table, she didn't move it away. Result.

I'd melted her guard within forty minutes, and she was openly receptive to my flirtatious advances. Perfect. No wine or effort is needed, just a coffee and footsie under the cafeteria table.

'Can I make a confession,' I said quietly, leaning across the table, my fingers linked.

'We're not in church, Oliver, but go on if you must.'

Chloe bit on a perfectly manicured nail, her face adopting a coquettish look that didn't suit her.

'I've always wanted to fuck you in your gown in the chambers.' I leaned back in my chair. 'There, I've said it.'

Chloe's cheeks flushed pink. I'd never noticed how dark her eyes were until that moment. They were like chocolate buttons, which widened the longer I stared at her.

'That's very naughty of you,' she eventually managed.

'You aren't telling me that the thought of me fucking you has never crossed your mind?' I asked. 'I don't believe that.'

Time was ticking, but looking at my watch would have been obvious. I surreptitiously glanced at the cafeteria clock.

'I think probably any woman that has crossed your path has fantasised about fucking you, Oliver. And well, you know it. You do have a reputation.'

I drained my cup of coffee. 'Let's do it then,' I said boldly.

Chloe's eyebrows shot up. 'You're surely not serious?'

'I'm deadly serious. Why not? What better way to prepare for court? We can release ourselves of any tension we might be feeling, and, you never know, a good fuck could enhance your performance and sum up.'

She gave me a sardonic look. 'I assure you, I don't need help on that score, Oliver.'

So, I spent another precious ten minutes seducing Chloe. I sat in the seat beside her and whispered all the things I wanted to do to her. I put a hand beneath her charcoal grey pencil skirt and felt her stockings and suspenders. Briefly, I stroked my fingers across her satin knickers. That last move sealed it; Chloe's gorgeous eyes glazed over with lust.

'You breathe a word, Oliver and I swear you are in deep trouble,' she murmured, her lips teasingly close to my earlobe, her breath like a warm summer breeze.

I reached for my briefcase and stood. 'I promise this will be our little secret.'

From the cafeteria, we signed in at the security desk before walking to the chambers, our footsteps resounding against the wooden floor.

In the chambers, Chloe turned to me. 'Right, Oliver, let's get this straight. I like being dominated. As you can imagine, I'm in control of every aspect of my life, so when it comes to fucking, I like being submissive. I like being taken.'

I opened my briefcase and took out a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. 'I'm always prepared for any eventuality, Chloe. Now, turn around and put your hands behind your back. Let's pretend you've been arrested for being a naughty girl.'

Chloe's eyes glinted before she turned her back to me. 'I was hoping you'd say that.'

Grabbing her hands, I put on the handcuffs, fastening them tightly around her wrists before tying on the blindfold. Placing a thigh between hers, I nudged her legs apart. Pushing up her skirt, I appraised her stocking-clad legs, and my cock hardened.

I smoothed my hands over the nylons, reached the top of her suspenders and pulled them. I let them snap loudly against her thighs, and she gasped.

'I like it rough,' she said. 'I mean it, Oliver… really rough. Don't hold back.'

Trousers unzipped, I pulled out my cock and used my other hand to move Chloe's knickers to one side, twisting them in my fingers so that the satin pulled tight against her clit.

Her gasps were the only encouragement I needed, and I pressed my cock against her slit. Grabbing her hair, I thrust inside. Man, her pussy was hot, way hotter than I could ever have imagined. And it was tight, clamping around my shaft like an oyster shell. As a reward, I fingered Chloe's pearl of a clit while I penetrated deeper.

The fact that her hands were handcuffed behind her back and her face forced against the wall turned me on even more.

'You need to try harder.' Her tone was husky, sexy, and urgent. 'Please, come on, Oliver, don't disappoint me.'

Before I could stop myself, my hands were around her throat, gripping tightly as I rammed my cock into her channel. She made choking noises, and I stopped briefly, allowing her to recover. I thwacked her thigh hard. Looking down, I saw a red welt, and I nearly came at the thought of my handprint being beneath her gown later while we waged war against each other in court.

I pride myself on gauging people and silently congratulated myself for my spot-on assessment of Chloe. She was pretty clearly one horny bitch, possibly even hornier than I imagined, and she gushed, pussy juices splashing my thighs.

'Fuck, that's so good,' she gasped. 'Grip my ass tight, dig in your nails and fuck me hard. Do it, Oliver… let me feel you building up. I want to feel your hot cum shooting inside me.'

I didn't want to stop, but I knew time was pressing. Digging nails into Chloe's ass, I parted her cheeks and contemplated sticking my cock up her forbidden hole. That thought excited me to the point that my erection rapidly expanded, and I pumped load after load deep inside her. Chloe all but screamed and wept, her legs shaking violently. I clung to her, somehow keeping her from collapsing in a heap.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd recovered, and we were ready for court. Six hours later, I had the result I wanted. My furious fucking had clearly thrown Chloe off her stride because her prosecution lacked fire, and her summing up was probably the worst I'd heard her deliver.

I admit that the thought of my semen swilling around inside her pussy, along with that handprint on her thigh, came close to affecting my court performance. She must have been very aware and distracted, too — but I had a lot more riding on a "not guilty" verdict.

In the court car park, Chloe handed me her business card. 'You must get in touch, Oliver, so we can finish what we started. If you understand what I mean, you must punish me and take me as your victory cup.'

Who could refuse an offer like that?