Addicted to my Drug Dealer

I stared at myself in my mirror, the very picture of success. Thirty seven years old, senior lawyer and policy maker for one of the largest legal firms in the city and still the proud owner of a figure that turned heads, sparking respect, jealousy and desire. I brushed my jet black hair, the final act of getting myself ready for the night ahead - the past few months had been tough going and I knew I was in the need of a proper blowout and some fun, maybe that's why I had picked one of my shortest skirts and had more cleavage on display than I would normally for tonight's corporate blow out.

My mind drifted back to the meeting at the start of my career when my mentor sat me down and told me I had all the skills to rise to the very top of my profession but that law was still an incredibly sexist career. I had to learn to carry myself in the right ways, which meant every time I walked into a room I had to make the men in there either fear me or want to fuck me. Her voice had implied it was a choice between the two options, but me being me decided I would pull off both simultaneously - a skill that I found had benefitted me in both my professional and personal lives.

The sound of my phone vibrating snapped me out of my reminiscing. I quickly glanced at the whatsapp message that had come through: Carl vouched for u. $250. 256a King Street cyu @ 7. I breathed a sigh of relief that the last piece of the jigsaw needed for the night was in place.

It was a strange irony that consumption of illegal narcotics by those working in the law profession were pretty much unmatched by any other industry and at my level in the business there was an expectation that I would be rewarding my subordinates for their efforts throughout the year. With my usual dealer out of town (incarceration rather than holiday) it had been a last minute panic to find a supplier for tonight, but utilising my connections a reputable alternative had been found.

I checked the location of King Street in Google maps; four stops on the Subway then a five minute walk. Not the best end of town, definitely not the worst. I'd be cutting things tight but I had more than enough time to make it there then to the venue before the official party start time. I gave myself one final look over in the mirror, grabbed my handbag and was off. Half an hour later I was outside 256a King Street. I pushed the intercom and waited for it to be picked up at the other end. "Hi, it's Annabelle" I replied, after which the lock on the door buzzed and I pushed it open.

Little did I know that my otherwise perfect life was about to change in ways I couldn't possibly imagine.