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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Cromwell's Court Case
by Homer Vargas (vargas111@yahoo.com)
Last Edited 9/29/05
***
Cromwell avoids a sexual harassment suit and so much
more. (Mdom/F, mc, humor, preg)
***
Everyone knows by now that Downing Street is my
favorite writer. His way of telling how uptight women
gradually are transformed into tarty sluts is without
peer. But is it "conceivable" that he is telling the
"full" story? The "expanded" consequences of these
changes "bear" further examination.
*****
I
*****
"This is the best deal you have any reason to expect,
Cromwell," the woman said coldly; "I suggest you take
it."
Cromwell looked back at the slender blonde in the
masculine black suit, barely noticing the sheaf of
papers in her hand. He felt utterly defeated. Even his
own lawyer thought he was scum. "Penelope, can't we
fight this?"
If anything, the lawyer's voice became even colder.
"First of all, my name is 'Ms. Parnell,' not
'Penelope.' Second, your former employee has a case
against you on which the court will convict. Especially
with one of the best legal firms in the city behind
her. Take the plea bargain. And try to remember this
the next time you feel like assaulting your secretary."
She tossed the papers in front of him and sat down
behind her polished desk.
Cromwell sat there, feeling numb. He stared past her
for a moment, out the second-storey window. The trees
lining the street were brilliant in the early autumn
sunshine, indifferent to the morass his life had fallen
into.
"Penelope," he tried again, "I mean Ms. Parnell. It, it
wasn't like that. I didn't mean anything. Hell, I was
drunk; it was a party; everybody was fooling around,
having a good time. I just got a little carried away.
She led me on."
"She has videotape," the blonde lawyer snapped back,
"and multiple witnesses. Her case is airtight."
"But, but those witnesses are all her friends. Of
course they'll corroborate her story; the judge will
see that."
"The judge will also hear testimony from each witness
that you made persistent and inappropriate advances to
all of them too, won't he." Her blue eyes flashed.
Cromwell hung his head. How could this be happening?
Two weeks ago he had gotten a little loose at a company
party, nothing that hadn't happened a dozen times
before. Now that little minx of a secretary, barely 20
years old, was dragging him through the mud and making
his life hell. He shook his head. The damndest thing
was that the girl had the most awesome legs.
Irrelevant, but still true.
At last he said, "I need some time to think about
this."
Ms. Parnell said, "Don't take too long about it. The
trial gets underway day after tomorrow. The deal drops
the criminal charges if you settle for the full amount
in the civil suit. That option won't be available once
the case is in session. I'd like to get this off my
desk."
For a moment Cromwell rebelled. He was being shuffled
aside like so much paperwork! "You're supposed to be MY
lawyer!" he charged.
The blue-eyed blonde was unmoved. "Not my idea,
Cromwell. I'm only on this case at all because Mr.
Ferguson doesn't want to touch it. I can see why. I
have other cases to deal with, real people with real
problems; I haven't got time to waste on a middle-aged
cad who treats his employees as playmates for his
sexual gratification."
For a long moment they glared at each other. Her hair
was tied up in a businesslike bun on the back of her
head, hiding its true length. Her high cheeks, flushed
with anger, were surprisingly pretty. She was young,
not even a junior partner yet. She had been assigned to
his case when Ferguson, his friend and confidant for
years, had suddenly become "too busy" for him.
Cromwell rose and snatched the papers off her desk.
"I'll look at these," he said, knowing he was conceding
defeat.
Ms. Parnell did not get up. "Be in my office with the
papers signed at 9:30 tomorrow. I need time to talk to
the judge."
He let himself out.
*****
Fifteen minutes later Cromwell was seated in his
favorite chair at his regular club, nursing his wounds
with a strong drink. It wasn't his fault, he told
himself for the one thousandth time. It was all a set-
up.
Things hadn't been going well at home. His wife was
incredibly sexy, but had lost interest in sex; maybe
she'd never really had any. He loved her, but, rebuffed
each night and morning, he went to work each morning
horny and frustrated, which combined with his driven
personality to make him short-tempered and sullen. More
and more he found himself noticing all the attractive
young women in the office.
Then one day Tawny had waltzed into his office, pert,
cheerful and gorgeous. She announced, as if she had
just won a school prize, that Human Resources had made
her his new secretary. Cromwell had been stung. She was
perfect. She was beautiful. She came to work each
morning in yet another foxy miniskirt, apparently
unaware of Cromwell's weakness for legs on high heels,
unlike his wife who WAS aware and refused to wear them.
She seemed so innocent. . .
He sipped his Scotch, staring at the floor.
"Quite a jolly mess, isn't it?" said the man beside
him.
Cromwell looked up. "Excuse me?"
The man put down the newspaper that had hidden him so
effectively. He was thin and bespectacled. "This mire
you've gotten yourself into, Mr. Cromwell. This awful
legal proceeding."
"Excuse me," Cromwell said again, "Do I know you? I
don't think I remember--"
The man interrupted him smoothly. "Just look at your
situation. You're facing both a private suit and a
criminal prosecution. Your adversary is a twenty-year-
old secretary the judge will love. I understand you've
drawn Judge Martha Harris; a competent jurist, but
something of a crusader on harassment issues. The case
against you is formidable, even though there is no
convincing evidence of impropriety on your part, aside
from inebriation. If you decide to fight it, the best
you can hope for is a conditional discharge and a
criminal record. Or you can accept the sleazy deal
they're offering and pay a six-figure sum for having
too much to drink at a party."
"What --," blustered Cromwell, "Who are you? How do you
know all --"
"Have you considered the, ah, social implications of
your predicament?" the man asked, ignoring Cromwell's
questions. "How much respect will you retain at work
once your whole staff sees you convicted as a lecher?
What will be your chances at that vice-presidency you
have worked toward for so long? You will probably have
great difficulty even finding a new secretary. Not to
mention the effect on business when word of this gets
out to your customers. Most important of all: how long
do you think you can hide this little adventure from
your wife?"
"You leave my wife out of this!" Cromwell stormed,
fighting to keep his voice down. Then, after a moment:
"She will ... understand."
The thin man regarded Cromwell patiently through his
dark-framed glasses. "Certainly she will ...
understand. She will understand that you have handed
her powerful new ammunition with which to belittle and
intimidate you any time she wants something. She will
understand how to exact a steep and continuing price
for her forgiveness; she will understand how to use
this incident to get her own way for years to come.
Your chance of getting her to make any little Cromwells
will be zero. She'll never have to fuck you again."
Cromwell felt his face flush with anger. He started to
say something, but the other man raised a hand, cutting
him off. "Please, Mr. Cromwell, be honest with
yourself. Your wife is a self-centered, manipulative
bitch. She married you for money and prestige. I
suspect you were so bedazzled by her looks that you
didn't see her true nature. I can't say I blame you:
fabulous tits and fucked like a banshee before you
married her, didn't she?" He spoke in the same tones a
man might used while discussing England's chances in
the World Cup.
Cromwell leaned toward him, his face a thundercloud.
"Now look here, whoever you are, I --"
"Mr. Cromwell," the man interrupted, "when was the last
time your wife allowed you to made love?"
Cromwell said nothing for a long moment. He looked
away. Finally, in a low voice, he asked: "How do you
know all this?"
"We do our homework," the man replied. "Thorough
background research is the key to ensuring our clients
are satisfied."
"What? Clients?"
The man reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a
plain white business card. He handed it to Cromwell. "I
represent a company that specializes in situations like
yours," he explained. "I believe we can help you."
Cromwell said: "I already have a lawyer."
"Ah yes, MS Parnell," the man responded, buzzing the
title ironically as if they were discussing golf. He
folded his hands like a steeple. "Your lawyer is part
of your problem. She is an ambitious, if sexy little
sourpuss who only wants to put this whole matter behind
her. You need a more permanent solution."
Cromwell studied the man sitting next to him. He was
tall and proper. Dressed in a conservative grey suit
and tasteful silk tie, he could have been an investment
banker or a professor of economics. He spoke with a
crisp, slightly British accent.
"Permanent solution? What are you talking about?"
Cromwell asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
"I mean, quite simply, that we can make this whole ugly
situation go away," the man said evenly. "Disappear.
Vanish. Cease to be a vexation to your spirit."
"You can win my court case?"
"We can do better than that. We can have all the
charges withdrawn, with an apology. We can make the
parties involved regret that they ever displeased you
and sincerely want to make you happy. We can do away
with all these petty annoyances that are preventing you
from enjoying life as it ought to be enjoyed. In short,
Mr. Cromwell, we can FIX things."
"But, but -- I still don't understand. How do you
propose to do this?"
The man flexed his fingers for a moment. "I'd rather
not go into the methods themselves. In any case it's
rather technical. When you have decided to go ahead,
just call the number on that card. They will take care
of fee transfers and scheduling. I urge you to call
soon, today if possible. We don't have a great deal of
lead time."
Cromwell was staring at him, nonplussed. Was he really
having this conversation? "How-- how much?" he found
himself saying. The man beside him named a figure that
made Cromwell's eyes go round. "It's entirely
reasonable," he explained, "when you consider what you
receive in return. Besides, it's considerably less than
you would pay in legal fees and penalties, assuming the
suit against you is successful."
Cromwell stopped to consider. The man had a point; the
court case was bound to cost him dearly. And if they
could do what he said they could do....
His companion got to his feet, folding the newspaper
neatly beneath his arm. "Do give us a call this
afternoon if you can. You won't regret it. Good day,
Mr. Cromwell." He walked away briskly.
Cromwell stayed behind. He looked at the business card
in his hand. It was entirely blank but for a telephone
number, printed exactly in the middle. Cromwell
couldn't decide if that was the strangest thing, or
whether it was the fact that the man beside him had
been reading the Times of India.
*****
Two hours later, Cromwell was sitting in his office,
still staring at the business card. The chill in the
office when he came in had been palpable. Friends and
colleagues avoided him. People whispered behind his
back. His outer office was empty. Tawny had been
transferred, at her request. Human Resources had
decided it would be best if Cromwell got by without a
secretary, for the time being. He picked up the
telephone and dialed the number.
"Hello! Thank you for calling," said a sexy female
voice.
"Uh. Hello. Uh, yes. My name is Cromwell, I--"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Cromwell!" The voice sounded delighted.
"Have you decided to go ahead with the procedure?"
"Well, I, I guess, I mean, I think -- Listen, I'd like
to know a little more about it."
"Oh, don't worry about the details. Trust me, you'll
love our work. Did our representative talk to you about
the fee?"
"Yes. Yes, he did. Shouldn't I meet with your people to
discuss my case?"
"No need for that. We have all the information we need
in our files. We can begin as soon as the funds are
transferred."
"But, but, I still don't understand --"
"Mr. Cromwell," the voice said pointedly, "we offer a
full money-back guarantee. None of our clients has
*ever* asked for a refund."
There was silence for a long moment. Eventually
Cromwell said: "How do I pay the fee?"
"Make an electronic transfer to this account." She
named an account number of a bank in the Cayman
Islands. "You've made the right decision, Mr. Cromwell.
We'll get right to work. Oh, one more thing. Did you
write that account number down on a piece of paper?"
"Yes."
"When you're through, throw it away, won't you? Bye
now."
Cromwell hung up the telephone. He turned to his
computer and transferred a large sum of money to an
offshore account. He took the sheet of paper with the
bank and account number written on it and dropped it
through the paper shredder. Then he went home.
Cromwell's wife was not home when he arrived. There was
nothing unusual about that. Shana was usually out,
ostensibly shopping, or running him down with one of
her rich friends, or playing tennis, or participating
in any of the innumerable events that constituted the
social whirl in which she lived. In fact Cromwell
suspected she was having her gears oiled regularly by
some stud at her gym.
Cromwell didn't mind. He was grateful for the free
time. He still hadn't told Shana about the court case.
He was not looking forward to the fireworks.
Shana did not come home for dinner. When she hadn't
returned by late evening, Cromwell began to worry. It
wasn't like Shana to go so long without calling. He
stayed up late, nursing a drink. When Shana still
hadn't returned by midnight, he decided he might as
well go to bed.
He was awakened in the night by the sound of movement.
He turned on the bedside lamp. Shana was there,
changing into her nightgown. She looked haggard.
"Shana!" Cromwell cried. "At last. Where have you
been?"
His wife looked at him wanly. "Honey, I'm really
tired." She clambered into bed beside him and closed
her eyes. She actually seemed to snuggle close.
Cromwell stared at her incredulously. "Shana, it's --"
he glanced at the bedside clock -- "it's 3 a.m.! Where
have you been?"
"mm not sure," she mumbled, without opening her eyes.
"Thin' I wzz 'ducted. These two men. . . put me 'n
van."
"WHAT!" He sprang up in bed. "What? I mean, how? Who?
Did they hurt you? Are you all right? Shana?"
His wife was breathing regularly, fast asleep.
After a moment Cromwell turned off the lamp. He stared
into the darkness, perplexed. This had been one strange
day. He lay down and his wife schoonched against him.
He felt her tits on his chest for the first time in
years.
*****
Cromwell was having a dream. It was a pleasant, erotic
dream. It had something to do with a beautiful
secretary seducing him. His eyes fluttered open. Early
morning sunlight poured through the bedroom windows.
His bed covers had been pulled back. His wife was
astride him, on her knees, slowly and lovingly lowering
herself onto his cock.
"Wha?" said Cromwell.
Shana raised her glistening cunt lips from his member
for just a moment. "Good morning honey," she cooed,
looking at with enraptured devotion. "Did you sleep
well?"
Evidently it was a rhetorical question, because she
immediately lowered herself and her pussy drew him back
in. Cromwell groaned. Through the intensely pleasurable
sensations that Shana was producing, his mind
registered astonishment. In the nearly seven years that
they had been married, Shana had ridden him exactly
twice, both times with ill grace and only when he had
made it a condition for granting some especially
extravagant indulgence. Now she was spontaneously
giving him the best cowgirl fuck he'd ever experienced.
Shana did something with her cunt muscles and Cromwell
twitched.
There was something else odd too. As he watched his
wife's pussy slide eagerly up and down his tool,
Cromwell realized Shana was already wearing her make-
up. Earrings too. The big gold ones he had bought her
but she had never worn, flashed and flew about as she
bounced. She was dressed in a red, strapless teddy, a
Valentine's or Anniversary gift from years ago but
which until now Shana had refused to put it on.
"Whorish," she had judged. The cups thrust her half-
covered chest up and out, highlighting her spectacular
tits. Her legs were clad in shiny stockings with
ribbons and bows on the garters. Her gaudiest high-
heeled red pumps were on her feet.
How early had she gotten up to prepare for this? And
whatever for? Cromwell tried to ask a question, but
Shana bent down and put her tongue in his mouth.
Nothing came out but a squeaky gasp. Then she began to
fuck him hard, long hair flying on each downstroke. She
brought Cromwell to the brink in moments. Groaning, he
reached behind him with both hands and clasped the
headboard. A moment later she had impaled herself on
him hard. His back arched upward and he erupted like a
geyser into her dripping cunt.
The relief was exquisite. Shana stayed with him, riding
hungrily until at last he subsided into sighs and
twitches. She licked him clean when she reluctantly let
his softening shaft slip out of her pussy. "There," she
said with satisfaction, "isn't that a nice way to start
the day?"
Without giving her astonished husband a chance to
answer, she slid gracefully to her feet. "Don't hurry
about getting up, honey," she said. "I'll get your
breakfast while you shower, 'K?" She slipped on a long,
transparent robe, and without pausing to do it up,
sauntered out of the room, unconcerned that a thick
glob of semen was sliding down her leg.
Cromwell lay there for a long time, catching his
breath. What on earth had gotten into Shana? She only
LET him fuck her when she wanted something; she never
took the initiative, never seemed to enjoy it, never
NEEDED it. Sex was just her most effective means of
manipulating him. He went to the bathroom for his
shower. Shana had laid out clean towels.
When Cromwell walked into the kitchen a little while
later, straightening his necktie, he received another
shock. Food was sizzling on the stove, filling the room
with delicious smells. Shana was sashaying about the
kitchen, humming to herself. She seemed perfectly at
home in her high heels.
Shana cooking? For a moment Cromwell didn't know what
to think. If someone had asked him, what is the one
thing your wife is less likely to do than wake you up
with an early morning fuck, Cromwell would have
answered: cook breakfast for him. "Uh, Shana?" he said
uncertainly.
His wife turned to him, beaming. "Hi honey! Come and
sit down, breakfast is almost ready." She gestured to
the kitchen table, where an elaborate setting was
waiting for him.
"But, but, wait a minute. Last night, you were out,
late; you said you had been abducted."
She gave him an amused look. "Abducted? Don't be silly.
Yesterday I went out shopping with Nichole, and then. .
. . Well, I don't remember. Come on, sit. Don't let the
toast get cold."
Cromwell sat. Breakfast was excellent. He sipped his
coffee, watching his wife totter about the kitchen with
a wary eye. The outfit she was wearing clearly reminded
him of how she had gotten him to marry her in the first
place. Below the rich cascades of cinnamon brown hair
her figure was perfect: smooth, curved and sensuous,
leading downward to the flawlessly tapering legs that
seemed to go on forever. Despite what Shana had already
done for him that morning, Cromwell felt his cock stir.
Eventually, however, he had to face reality. "Shana,"
he said, "come here and sit down for a moment. We have
to talk."
"Of course, darling," Shana chirped. She approached the
table, but instead of taking the seat next to his, she
slid into his lap. "What would you like to talk about?"
She slid both arms around his neck. This action brought
Cromwell distractingly close to those mesmerizing
mounds that the man in the club had so accurately
described as "fabulous". He felt himself stiffening.
He drew a deep breath. "Shana, there's something I have
to tell you. Tomorrow morning, I have to appear in
court to answer charges."
She stroked his hair. "Oh, darling, that's awful. Do
you want me to go with you?"
"Wh-what?" It wasn't the response he had been
expecting.
"You know, to keep you company. I'd be glad to come
along if you want."
"Uh, no, that won't be necessary." She hadn't even
asked what the charges were.
She brightened. "In that case, do you mind if I do a
little shopping?"
Cromwell was confused again. Since when did Shana feel
she needed permission to spend his money? "Uh, no, I
guess not," he answered cautiously. "What in particular
did you have in mind?"
She leaned closer, presenting him with an even better
view of her glorious globes. Her voice sank an octave.
"Well, I know how fond you are of teddies and things.
But this is the only one I have." She frowned prettily,
as if puzzled by how this sad state of affairs could
have arisen. "I'd like to get more pretty new things.
You know, for just around the house, for you." Her
fingers gently massaged the back of his neck.
"Oh, uh, I see. Well, yes then, please, go right
ahead!" He looked at his watch. "Oops, honey, I have to
get going. It's almost nine, and I have to meet my
lawyer at 9:30. I'd better get to the office."
Shana planted little kisses on his cheek. "You could do
that, I s'pose," she whispered, snuggling up close.
"You could hurry off to the office, just for half an
hour." She paused to kiss him very thoroughly. "Or,"
she husked, her lips close to his, "you could stay here
to eat your very horny wife."
Was this Shana? She had never allowed his lips to
approach her pussy. She kissed him yet again and
slipped her hand down to his iron-hard prick to sway
his decision. She succeeded.
It was well past 9:30 by the time Cromwell wrestled
himself from between the arms and legs of his newly
amorous wife. A long session between her thighs leading
to several mouthfuls of Shana's cum naturally led to
another fuck, this one from behind with Shana clawing
the sheets and chewing the pillow as Cromwell pounded
her. Daylight and doggie sex were two other firsts for
Shana who heretofore had only permitted missionary with
the lights out and never allowed herself to orgasm.
Even after he had come into her overheated, spasming
pussy, Shana begged him to leave it in her for a little
while longer.
He called the law office from his cell phone on the way
to apologize for being late. The receptionist told him
that Ms. Parnell had been detained in an earlier
meeting, and would not be available to meet with him
until later. She would call when she was free. Cromwell
turned around and headed for the office.
The law office had not called by noon, so Cromwell
called them. The receptionist told him that Ms. Parnell
was "out", but she promised to call back. Cromwell
called again near the end of the day. The receptionist,
now clearly covering for Parnell's absence, passed him
on to another lawyer, equally junior.
"Ms. Parnell has been called away from the office for a
day or so," the man lied, "so I'll take your case in
her absence. I understand we have a plea bargain in
place, so the court appearance is mostly a formality."
Cromwell hung up the telephone, frowning. Why didn't
anybody know where Parnell had gone?
As he drove the few miles home from his office,
Cromwell turned to wondering about Shana. Perhaps her
behavior that morning had been a ploy, softening him up
for a mega dose of bitchiness or some new bank-account
shattering purchase. Shana put that idea to rest when
she greeted him at the door in a black velvet bustier
that thrust out the flawless half-moons of her chest
without covering the nipples, matching black velvet
panties, shimmering dark pantyhose and funky black
ankle boots.
Cromwell had a bit of a weakness for heavy ankle boots,
but he could remember the row it had caused when he
shared that secret with his indignant wife. Right at
that moment, as he watched Shana slink toward him with
a look of almost predatory lust, Cromwell was surprised
he could remember his middle name. She melted into his
arms, kissing him as if he had just returned from six
months in the jungle. "Come on in and have a drink,
darling," she urged. "Dinner's almost ready."
Dinner was sumptuous and delicious. Shana did not
change to eat. She sat across from him, her distended,
red-topped nipples on full display, and gazed at her
husband adoringly. Cromwell barely noticed the food.
After dinner Shana insisted that Cromwell relax with a
second drink while she modeled all the pretty things
she had bought that afternoon. She put soft music on
the stereo and slowly changed out of one exotic outfit
and into another in front of him, getting thoroughly
worked up in the process. She was less than half way
through the collection before she gave up. Cromwell was
hard, anyway and they ended up back in bed again, or
rather in an urgent rut on the living room rug, which
was as far as Shana could go before getting Cromwell
stuffed into her.
They made it into bed eventually. Cromwell hoped the
neighbors hadn't heard Shana screaming out his name
during her orgasms. The next morning, his wife once
again roused him without an alarm clock, allowing him
to eat her to multiple orgasms for the second time in
their marriage before insisting on riding him to an
orgasm that delayed his arising.
*****
II
*****
Cromwell did manage to make it to the law office on
time the next morning, but it was a near thing. Shana
had decided that there was no need to wear underwear
beneath her black lace body stocking "just around the
house", but nevertheless opted for the high-heeled,
mirror-black pumps. She had a regular luncheon with
some of the other rich wives in the neighborhood. When
Cromwell mentioned it she waved a hand and told him she
would rather stay home and clean house. She saw him off
only after insisting he take her one last time bent
over the counter in the kitchen, proving the wisdom of
her decision to dispense with undergarments.
"Probably just as well you didn't take this to trial,"
Cromwell's new lawyer told him later as they waited in
the courtroom. "I wouldn't relish tangling with that
lot." He nodded toward the other bench. Cromwell's
substitute lawyer was a young black man, thin and
earnest.
Tawny was sitting on the other side of the courtroom,
accompanied by two lawyers, both older and clearly
experienced. She was dressed conservatively, in a very
long grey skirt, worlds away from the cheerful little
minis she used to wear to the office. Her hair was
pulled back in a bun, giving her the look of an old
fashioned school mistress, not the little vixen who had
come onto him at the party, practically begging to be
fucked. She didn't meet Cromwell's eyes.
A back door opened and the judge entered the room.
Judge Harris was younger than Cromwell expected. She
would have been pretty but for the air of harried
impatience about her. Black robes swished as she
marched to her seat behind the bench.
"Well, what have we got this morning," she said
briskly, shuffling papers. "Sleikbody vs. Cromwell. I
understand the parties have agreed to a resolution to
this unfortunate business." She looked over at
Cromwell's table as if examining some lower life form.
"Excuse me Counselor, but I have a Ms. Parnell listed
on this case."
Cromwell's lawyer got to his feet. "Uh, yes, that's
correct Your Honor, but my colleague is, uh, indisposed
at this moment and, uhm, hasn't been able to attend.
However, no formal representation will be required, as
we have negotiated an out-of-court settlement with the
aggrieved party. My client is willing to --"
The door to the courtroom burst open. "Wait! No plea
bargain!" cried a female voice. Heads turned toward the
attractive blonde rushing into the room. "So sorry I'm
late, Your Honor." She stumbled up to Cromwell's desk
and flung her briefcase on the table. "Penelope
Parnell, representing Mr. Cromwell." She rested a hand
on his shoulder.
"Penelope! What the hell?" her associate whispered.
"Ms. Parnell, what is the meaning of this?" the judge
demanded.
Cromwell was wondering that himself. Ms. Parnell looked
different. She was wearing a fetching pink suit over a
frilly white blouse. Cromwell couldn't remember seeing
Parnell in anything except black pantsuit. The skirt on
the suit was rather brief for a barrister to wear to
court, especially with the pink high heels she had
chosen to go with it. Still, as he admired Parnell's
shapely legs Cromwell couldn't imagine anyone
complaining. She had changed her hair too, letting the
tight curls flow loosely down her back, with two locks
trained to fall on each side of her face.
"I beg the court's pardon," Ms. Parnell said formally.
"I was detained by... an urgent medical situation.
However, I am prepared to go forward with this case as
planned, so with my colleague's permission I will take
over from here." She squeezed Cromwell's shoulder
possessively.
Cromwell's other lawyer, clearly taken by surprise,
started to protest. Parnell glared at him. "I *said*,
I'll take over from here, John."
He wilted. "Uh, very well then," he muttered. He sat
down.
Ms. Parnell turned to the judge, smiling.
Judge Harris did not smile back. "Well, if we have
sorted out who is in charge, perhaps you would like to
explain that dramatic outburst, Ms. Parnell?"
Parnell said: "Your Honor, I have come into ... new
information pertaining to this case which may influence
my client's decision regarding the proposed plea
bargain. If I could be granted a brief continuance,
perhaps until tomorrow, to discuss this with my client
--"
"I'll give you an hour recess," the judge said sourly.
"A continuance is hardly warranted just to decide a
plea. Court will reconvene at 11." She scowled at
Parnell. "Don't be late."
Ms. Parnell was in motion almost before the judge
banged the gavel. "Come on," she said urgently, taking
Cromwell's hand. "We have to hurry."
"But, but, wait --" Cromwell protested as the lithesome
lawyer almost dragged him out of the courtroom. Heads
turned to admire the miniskirted blonde as she hurried
down the hallway, walking with surprising speed and
agility in her precarious pink pumps.
She was still holding his hand as she made her way down
the courthouse steps. "Hurry!" she said again, "we have
less than an hour." She led him to a sporty red car
parked haphazardly in front of the courthouse. "Come
on, get in." Ms. Parnell grabbed a parking ticket off
the windshield and tossed it away, then fairly threw
herself behind the wheel.
The car was in motion before Cromwell had his door
closed. The blonde lawyer drove with reckless speed
through the morning traffic. She didn't paused to do up
her seatbelt or pull down her skirt, which had ridden
up fetchingly around her hips.
"That, that light was red, I think," Cromwell
suggested, holding on. "Penelope, what in blazes is
going on?"
"Wait till we get to my office," she told him tersely.
Ms. Parnell jerked to a stop in front of her office
building with one wheel on the sidewalk. She grabbed a
package out of the back seat and bolted up the steps.
She was halfway through the front door before Cromwell
caught up with her. "Penelope!" cried a surprised
secretary, "Where have you been? I have messages--"
"Later," she growled, without slowing down.
At last they arrived at Parnell's small office. The
lawyer dragged Cromwell inside and locked the door. She
threw her package on the desk.
"Finally!" she said. "I couldn't get out of that
courtroom fast enough." She slipped off her suit jacket
and tossed it over a chair.
Cromwell was breathless. "Penel -- I mean, Ms. Parnell,
what is this all about? Why don't you want me to accept
the plea bargain? And where *were* you all day
yesterday?"
She stood still for a moment. "Where? Well, I... in a
hospital, I think." Her voice softened, as if she were
trying to remember a dream. "Maybe. There were doctors
. . . and nurses or something . . . and machines . . ."
She brightened. "Well, whatever. Let's concentrate on
the case."
"All right, but first you told me Tawny's case was
airtight, and now you turn around and -- what are you
DOING?" Ms. Parnell's blouse fluttered down on top of
her jacket. Underneath she wore some kind of tight,
pink bustier, the kind Cromwell liked.
"I'm getting undressed, so you can fuck me, of course,"
the shapely blonde answered eagerly. She was already
working on the skirt. She stopped abruptly. "You will
fuck me, won't you?" a note of concern in her voice.
Cromwell had no ready answer to that. "I-- I-- what?
What are you--, I mean, Penelope, you can't m-mean --
holy Toledo!" The miniskirt fell to the floor around
her feet. Underneath she wore an elaborate pink garter
belt clipped to flesh-tone nylons that sleeked up her
legs from the pink high heels. She wore no panties.
"You do find me attractive, don't you, honey?" Ms.
Parnell asked, stepping over the skirt toward him. "I
mean, you wouldn't *mind* fucking me, would you?" She
reached up and unfastened the clip holding her hair
back.
Cromwell was bug-eyed. Was this the ice queen that had
called him a middle-aged cad and practically thrown him
out of her office two days ago? She advanced toward
him, her eyes misty with desire. Her lips were parted
slightly. She wore bright pink lipstick that matched
her underwear. Her lower lips were naturally pink.
"Come on, baby, we only have a few minutes. Please?"
the blonde entreated, snuggling up close. "Barely time
for a good quickie but I'll make sure you like it; I
promise." She pressed her soft lips against his,
slipping her tongue in his mouth while she began to
work his belt buckle.
When she let him up for air half a minute later,
Cromwell was gasping for breath. "Ms. Parnell, I--"
"Call me Penny," she husked, between kisses. "Look,
I've got something to show you." Holding him by his
tie, she led him to her desk. She swept one hand across
it impatiently. Files and papers and the telephone
crashed to the floor. She hopped up on top of the desk.
Leaning back on her elbows, she carelessly kicked her
pink high-heels across the room. Then she reached into
the bag she had brought from the car and extracted a
pair of black stretch boots.
Without taking her eyes off Cromwell, Penny swung
around so one foot rested on the desk, displaying her
well-curved leg in profile. While Cromwell watched, she
slipped the tight boot on her foot and pulled it up.
The boot was barely calf-high, with a three-inch- thick
platform and big block heel. She swung the other way
and squeezed on the other boot. Then she lay back
again, legs spread wide, short boots dangling over the
desk, her pussy open and inviting. "You like?" she
asked softly.
Cromwell licked his lips. He felt his resistance melt
like butter in the hot sun. The boots were glossy and
sexy and didn't match anything else she was wearing.
Somehow that only made them look hotter. How had Penny
known about his fetish for funky boots? "But, but, what
about the case?" Cromwell asked blankly, as his pants
slid down his legs. He was as hard as a diving board.
Penny sat up and flung her arms around his neck,
drawing him closer. "The whole thing is a set-up, it
has to be," she said. "We are going to fight this
trumped-up bullshit every step of the way and I am
going to get you a full acquittal. There is no way some
underage tramp with a vendetta is going to *touch* you
as long as I'm around, and I don't care if she has the
best fucking lawyers in the country." She spoke
vehemently, but distractedly, her hands were still
busy, pulling down his underwear and stroking his rigid
member urgently.
It was more than Cromwell could stand. He surged
forward, groaning, letting her guide him into her.
Penny Parnell gasped in delight as his cock slid home.
"Fuck me, honey," she cried, wrapping her long legs
around him. "Fuck me with my boots on. I need you so
bad!"
The sexy young lawyer was too hot to take it slow. The
couple began to piston rapidly, Cromwell standing in
front of the desk with his pants around his ankles, the
blonde babe in bustier and boots lying on top of it.
She slid back and forth on the polished desk as
Cromwell thrust into her again and again, grunting with
exertion and primal lust. She was tight, wet, wanting,
and utterly divine. Cromwell held her by her knees,
delighting in the feel of sleek nylons along her
luscious legs above the heavy ankle boots.
"Hurry, sugar, hurry," Penny panted, urging him on.
"I'm so close! You are so gooooood!" A light sheen of
sweat glistened on her face. One pert breast popped out
of her strapless top from the force of her oscillations
across the desktop. The nipple pointed at the ceiling
like a glazed raspberry.
Cromwell lifted both her legs to give himself a deeper
thrust. He kissed the top of one boot. "Penny, Penny,
we have to, (gasp) to go b-back into court in a minute.
What are we (huff, huff) going to do?"
"Don't stop," Penny gasped, throwing back her long,
loose blonde hair. "Don't ever stop. Almost there,
almost there...aw shit, it's so good. Don't worry 'bout
the huh! huh! case, sugar, I'll ask for... oh yes, ask
for, for, forrrrrr a continuAAAANCE!" Her shout was so
loud, as the orgasm overtook her, that the entire
office undoubtedly became aware of her defense
strategy. Cromwell felt her love tunnel spasm around
his dick, and the sweet sensation drove him over the
edge to his own release. With a series of deep grunts
he came powerfully inside her.
There was little time for further discussion. By the
time Cromwell and his sex-happy lawyer had cleaned up
and gotten dressed again they were due back in court in
a few minutes. Penny dashed across town with the same
reckless speed as before. She abandoned the car in a
stall reserved for judges.
Maybe it was the glow of sexual satisfaction that she
radiated or the sexy new wiggle in her walk, but Penny
turned even more heads as she clipped down the hallway
to the courtroom. Cromwell found he had to look up at
her. "Penny," he cried as they entered the court, "You
forgot to take your boots off!"
*****
Tawny and her lawyers had already returned. As before,
Tawny refused to look up as Cromwell went by. The older
lawyer looked at Penny though, in her mini-length suit
and fancy platform boots, a little spunk trickling down
her shapely leg. His face registered envy cloaked as
disapproval. Penny stuck her tongue out at him.
The court appearance did not go very well. Penny
entered a new plea of not guilty on Cromwell's behalf.
She stood with her briefcase carefully positioned in
front of her feet. Then she asked for a two-week
continuance to prepare a proper defense.
Unfortunately, Tawny's lawyer objected. He told the
judge how this matter was terribly painful for his
client, how any delay constituted a continued affront
to her rights to restitution, and how obvious delaying
tactics on the part of the accused should not be
indulged when they had turned down a very fair
settlement at the last moment. He spoke eloquently,
presenting clear and elegant arguments and citing cases
without notes.
It was enough to persuade Judge Harris. "I'll give you
one more day," she told Parnell flatly. "Then this
trial begins without further delay." She banged down
her gavel and stomped out of the room.
"What do we do now?" Cromwell asked, as the courtroom
emptied around them.
Penny leaned close to him. "Well, since I'm already
wearing my fuck-me boots ," she said reasonably, "I
think you should take me back to my place, and drill me
silly with that *gorgeous* big peter of yours." She
sighed in anticipation.
"But the trial begins tomorrow! Shouldn't we be
planning strategy?"
"Oh ... sure. We'll do that, too."
*****
It was near dinnertime when Cromwell finally made his
way home. Penny left him with a long, deep kiss at her
door, promising to spend the evening preparing his
case. She was still wearing her boots, but she had
pretty much lost everything else.
Cromwell was nervous about the case. He hoped he could
sleep that night. It helped that his wife met him at
the door with a warm kiss and his favorite drink. If
she smelled another woman on him or was distressed
about his late arrival, she failed to mention it The
house was spotless. Dinner was delicious. Afterward,
Shana brought him another drink.
She was dressed like a high-school cheerleader. She
wore knee socks, and there were little pom-poms on her
gym shoes. He sipped his drink while she giggled giving
him a long, satisfying backrub. Well, it began as a
backrub. Cromwell hardly thought about the case at all
that night.
*****
"Penny, where is everybody?" whispered Cromwell, late
the next morning. They were seated in the courtroom,
waiting, along with Tawny's legal team and the rest of
the court personnel, for the judge to arrive. Tawny
wasn't there either. The junior lawyer on her side kept
slipping out to make telephone calls. The older man
looked irritated.
Penny said: "This is so unusual. Judge Harris runs a
tight ship. She's never late." Penny had pinned her
hair back in a long ponytail. Her gold silk blouse was
as frilly as on the previous day. She was wearing a
tight, wrap-around skirt of some stretchy material. The
skirt ended well above the knee, but it was designed to
flash a lot more leg every time she took a step. At
least she had remembered to wear proper shoes today.
For someone who had stayed up most of the night working
on his defense, Penny was in a remarkably good humor.
She even offered Cromwell a little head, to calm him
down before court. Cromwell declined politely. He
didn't mention that he had already had two delightful
bouts with his wife that morning. He had awakened to
her invitation of a 69 and she had insisted on his
banging her over a dining room chair "for luck" before
she would let him out the door. Shana seemed to enjoy
them as much as he did.
"I just want to get on with this," Cromwell grumbled.
"Oh, now you are nervous, aren't you sugar," Penny
commiserated. "Here, let me help." She took his hand in
hers and guided it to her lap. With her free hand she
lifted the edge of her skirt a little and slid
Cromwell's hand underneath.
"Penny, what are you --"
She smiled at him. "This way we can both relax. Here,
up a little higher. Use your fingers. Oh, that's nice."
Cromwell looked around nervously. "Penny, we're in
court for the lovagod, and you -- you're not wearing
any --"
"They'd just get in your way," Penny whispered, guiding
his hand.
Finally, Judge Harris walked into the courtroom. The
judge was in much better spirits today. She didn't seem
nearly as hurried. She strolled deliberately, almost
lazily, to her place behind the bench, a peaceful smile
playing on her features. She had changed her hairstyle.
Her walk was different too. Cromwell only caught a
glimpse as she walked by, but he could have sworn she
was wearing spike heels.
"Good morning everybody," the judge said brightly.
"Sorry I'm a bit tardy. Couldn't be helped. Are we
ready to proceed?" Penny had released Cromwell's hand
when she stood for the judge, but the moment she sat
down she pulled it back again. Judge Harris waved a
hand at Tawny's attorney. "Counselor, where is the
plaintiff?"
"Your Honor, my client has not yet arrived in court,
and as yet we have been unable to locate her. I suggest
we recess until --"
"I suggest you find her," the judge cut him off. "Maybe
she went home to mother." The few spectators tittered.
"Uh, no, apparently not, Your Honor, she isn't at home
or at work or at the home of any known relatives. I
think perhaps she just has a case of courtroom
jitters."
"What does this mean?" Cromwell whispered to his
lawyer.
"It means they're screwed," she answered, still guiding
his fingers. "Oh, you're making me so wet." She
squirmed in her chair.
Judge Harris said: "It is a principle of fundamental
justice that the accused has a right to face his
accuser. I am not prepared to proceed with this trial
until Ms. Sleikbody is in the room." She tapped her
fingernails on the bench top. They were painted bright
red.
The lawyer began treading water. "Uh, in that case,
Your Honor, I see no recourse but, uhm, to request a
brief continuance, to give us time to, uh, locate my
client."
The judge was not sympathetic. "Counselor," she said
coolly, "yesterday it was you who would brook no delays
in bringing this case to trial. It was you who argued
so passionately that any delay was a denial of justice
to your client. Well, that sword cuts both ways. If a
delay is unacceptable to the complainant, it is equally
unacceptable to the defendant. This poor man" -- she
paused here to give Cromwell a protective smile -- "has
been pestered enough by these unproved accusations. I
will not tolerate any further harassment."
"But Your Honor, if we could just have --"
"Oh be quiet. The case is dismissed." She banged the
gavel over the lawyer's shocked protests. She winked at
Cromwell.
"Yes!" Penny enthused. "Oh yes, Yes, YES!" Her eyes
were half closed. Cromwell wasn't sure if she was
responding to the judge's decision or to the action of
his fingers in her pussy. He felt it clinch before
groaning and bathing his hand with girl juice.
"What does this mean?" Cromwell asked. "Am I clear?"
Penny didn't answer until her breathing was more
normal. "Oh, they could, mmmmm, still pursue the,
oohhhh my, criminal case, I suppose," Penny responded,
thrusting her hips below the table, clearly going for
round two, "but it has, has, oh yes right there, no
hope of suc -succeeding after summmmmmary dismissal of
the, oh, yes, oh, civillll suit. God, I think I'm about
to commmme!" Without dislodging his questing fingers,
she turned toward him, throwing one leg over his lap.
She clenched her teeth and shuddered through a second
orgasm right there in the courtroom.
"Oh, my word that turned out nicely," Penny sighed,
when she could breath again. She licked Cromwell's ear.
Then she buried his lips in a long, hot victory kiss.
"Let's go some place and celebrate!"
*****
Cromwell was in such a good mood the next morning that
he was almost whistling. After an afternoon of mostly
horizontal celebration with Penny, he had taken Shana
out for dinner and dancing, something she hadn't been
willing to do for years. His wife shared his excitement
that the charges against him had been dropped, although
she didn't seem very interested in what those charges
had been. She was too busy trying to grope him on the
dance floor, notwithstanding the stares that a woman in
an extremely short skirt, skyscraper heels, an almost
transparent blouse and no panties attracted. Where the
Hell had she learned the lambada?
*****
The chill in the office was replaced by warm
acceptance. Everyone told him how relieved they were
that his ordeal was over. Colleagues became friends
again. One of them directed him toward the bulletin
board, where he found a full-page retraction and abject
apology from Tawny. She had posted the same message to
everybody's e-mail, just to be sure.
Cromwell walked into his office. A scorchingly sexy
young woman was lying on top of his desk, like a
centrefold model posing for a photoshoot. "Ga!" said
Cromwell.
It was Tawny.
"Good morning Mr. Cromwell," Tawny said in a little-
girl voice. His former secretary was wearing a tight-
fitting, leopard-pattern mini-dress so short it made
her regular minis look prudish. The dress was low-cut
across the bodice to reveal the top third her proud
young breasts, so perfect and round they almost looked
polished. Sleek, dark nylons graced her legs, capped
off with tight, over-the-knee boots patterned in the
same leopard-skin motif as the dress.
"Ga!" said Cromwell again. "I mean, T-Tawny. What are
you doing here?"
Tawny was lying across the desk with her legs bent and
her head elevated so her thick brown hair tumbled down.
"I came back to apologize," she said contritely, "for
everything. For everything I've done to you. I've been
*sooo* bad. I guess I should be spanked." She swung her
legs around and got to her feet gracefully, despite the
challenging high heels on her animal-skin boots. "I'm
sorry Mr. Cromwell, I really am. Please, can you ever
forgive me?"
"Tawny, what are you talking about?" He struggled to
avoid staring at her legs. He failed completely.
"It, it wasn't my idea, not at first," Tawny replied.
"It was Klara." She referred to another office lovely,
the one who had held the video camera. "S-she said that
you were always, like looking at her, and flirting, and
saying things, like you did with me, and, and if we
made sure you had lots to drink at the party and kind
of goaded you a bit, we could get it all on tape and,
well, she said kind of get even and maybe get some
money too." Tears threatened her mascara. "Oh, I don't
know why I went along with it. I-I mean you've been so
g-good to me, and, and you're such a wonderful man to
work for, I was the luckiest girl in the world, and now
I've gone and ruined it." She stood forlornly in the
middle of his office, looking marvelous and miserable.
Cromwell said, "Tawny, it's over now. The case was
dismissed." Her tight dress stopped a few inches past
the curve of her bottom. Just looking at her legs was a
sexual experience.
"Please, Mr. Cromwell, there's one more thing. I, I
know I don't deserve it, and I won't complain if you
say no, but, but, could I, maybe . . ." She hesitated,
then blurted: "Could you give me my.. my old job back?"
Her voice broke into sobbing.
This caught Cromwell by surprise. "You want to work as
my secretary?"
She took a step toward him, hands clasped. "Oh yes,
please, please, please. Let me be your secretary again,
please Mr. Cromwell. I'll do a really super job, I
promise. I'll take a big pay cut if you want. I'll make
it up to you for what I've done. Just give me another
chance, please?" She looked up at him tearfully.
Cromwell felt his underwear stiffen.
"Well, I don't know, after all that..." Cromwell
demurred.
"Please, Mr. Cromwell," Tawny gushed. "Let me be your
secretary. I'll do anything if you'll let me work for
you again." She stepped up close and slid her arms
around his neck. She wore leopard- pattern gloves that
came up past the elbow. "Please?"
Cromwell found himself speechless. Standing this close
to her, with her dewy eyes gazing into his, he could
smell a delicate perfume floating up from the deep
shadows of her cleavage. He opened his mouth to say
something. Tawny kissed him, suddenly, tenderly, as if
taken by an impulse she couldn't resist.
"Please give me just one more chance," she whispered,
her lips an inch from his. "I'll do lots more than just
type." She kissed him again. "Look, let me show you how
I'll take care of you." She was already sliding down,
using his body for support as she sank gracefully to
her boot-covered knees on the carpet. Cromwell just
stared in amazement as his former secretary unzipped
his pants, then reached in with a gloved hand to free
his maleness. He was hard already.
"Mmmmm, yummy," Tawny whispered. She cupped him in one
hand, lifting his rod like an offering toward her
waiting mouth. She slid her crimson lips over him,
somehow taking inch after inch of his cock into her
mouth until her throat began to bulge. When had she
learned how to do that?
Cromwell was beyond caring. He gasped in delight as her
mouth and tongue worked magic. He glanced at the clock
on his desk; it was not yet nine-thirty in the morning,
yet Cromwell was receiving his second masterful blowjob
of the day. As Tawny's head began to bob rhythmically
up and down his shaft, he had already decided to take
pity on the girl. In gratitude, she swallowed every
drop.
*****
"Of course I will. Thank you, R. J." Cromwell put down
the telephone and announced: "It's official. From the
first of next month I'm the newest vice-president."
From her place behind his chair, Tawny squealed with
delight. "Oh, Crommie, that's wonderful!" She was
dressed in one of her office outfits, a bright silver
micro skirt coupled with a tight black sweater and
tight black boots. She was standing behind Cromwell's
high-backed chair, massaging his shoulders while he
worked.
Cromwell put his feet up on the desk and contemplated
how much life had improved in the last several months.
His legal difficulties were almost forgotten. At home
he had a loyal and insanely passionate wife so far
removed from the cold demanding bitch she had been that
they might have been two different species. After years
of refusal even to discuss it, one night after some
wine and an especially good fuck, *she* had brought up
the question of children. Not IF, but how many she
would like. Cromwell had talked her down to four, but
suspected Shana was planning for several extra
"accidents." After all, she had informed him the night
she broached the subject, she was already pregnant with
twins. A little embarrassed, she confessed to switching
from birth control to fertility pills some months ago
without telling him. "A sexy man like you *deserves* to
have lots of children," she explained. His sexy wife's
eagerness to make babies with him, and her newly kinky
imagination both in bed and out, still amazed him. As
Cromwell knowingly fucked his wife's pregnant pussy for
the first time, she giggled that once her tummy began
to swell with his baby, she'd REALLY be hot.
In the office he had a sex fantasy for a secretary and
a sharp young lawyer who insisted on doing all his
legal work pro bono. He grinned. Pro "boner" would be
more accurate. It was the least she could do, she told
him, for the man who had put that delightful little
bulge in her tummy.
They had done it: that man in the club, the sweet voice
on the telephone. He had no idea how they had done
whatever they did, but the result was certainly
satisfactory. More than satisfactory. Maybe he should
let them know.
"Tawny, hand me the card file, will you." he said
absently. Cromwell could have reached it himself, but
Tawny's locomotion was always worth experiencing.
"Sure, Crommie" she replied. She wiggled around to
retrieve the card file off the front of the desk. The
little metallic skirt shimmered with the sway of her
spreading hips. Cromwell admired the slender perfection
of her legs, displayed so fetchingly by sheer nylons
and stretch boots. The only condition Cromwell had
imposed in return for her job was that Tawny dress to
show off those marvelous legs. Her compliance, even now
that she was expecting, exceeded Cromwell's
expectations. Her milk-swollen tits jiggled
delightfully as she handed him the card file.
Now, where was that card? As he flipped through the
file Tawny sat on the desk and casually crossed her
knees. The micro-miniskirt hiked up around her thighs.
Cromwell was distracted. She had done the same thing
yesterday, and ended up with her back on the desk and
her high-heeled sandals pointing at the ceiling. He
wondered how long into her pregnancy she could keep
that up?
That sort of thing took Tawny's time away from her
regular secretarial duties, but Cromwell wasn't
concerned. Klara, Tawny's co-conspirator in the assault
case, had happily volunteered to take over any extra
work, in addition to her regular job. She was in the
outer office at that moment, all business, catching up
on correspondence. But Cromwell every time she could
pry him away from Tawny long enough, Karla would give
him a nice, "Can-you-forgive-me?" fuck. He had shown
her there were no hard feeling with her own "All-is-
forgiven" baby.
This change in attitude appeared just after Klara
disappeared for two days without explanation. She
worked diligently, only stopping every fifteen minutes
or so to check her make-up. Ann, the third witness to
Cromwell's indiscretion at the party had started
wearing fishnet nylons to work. Since she began to
show, she brought Cromwell fresh flowers and coffee
every morning.
At last Cromwell found the card the man had given him.
He flipped it over. The card was completely blank. If
he looked very closely, Cromwell could make out the
outline of one digit of the telephone number that
hadn't yet faded away completely.
Cromwell chuckled. He tossed the card in the
wastebasket. He looked at Tawny, preggy, leggy and
luscious, posing like a pin-up girl on his desk. He
cocked a finger at her. Smiling, she slipped off the
desk and into his lap. "Let's celebrate, Mr. Vice-
President," she cooed.
*****
At that same moment, in another part of the city, a man
about Cromwell's age was standing on a driving range.
He had been there for some time. He was hitting golf
balls everywhere, driving with far more energy than
accuracy. His mind wasn't on his swing.
"Mr. Samson," said the man beside him suddenly,
"suppose I were to tell you that divorce is not
inevitable." He hit his ball cleanly and knocked it for
a long drive. He watched it fall thoughtfully. "Suppose
I were to tell you that not only would your wife
forgive you for knocking up your mistress, she'd let
you make her pregnant again, too?" He paused to tee up
another ball. He was tall and wore glasses. "And that
even your wife's sister could be persuaded to reverse
the rather rude rebuff she gave you at last year's
Christmas party. Wouldn't she look cute in maternity
dresses?"
He leaned on his golf club and regarded the other man
calmly. "Would that be worth something to you, Mr.
Samson?"
*****
"Judge Harris? Of course. Put her through, Karla,"
Cromwell replied trying to calm his breathing as
Tawny's sat astride him, thrusting herself busily on
his manhood. Her recent return from maternity leave
found her as ardent as ever and, it appeared, she was
eager to start on another. The timing wasn't bad as
Klara would be delivering quite soon, Ann was nursing
and Penny was about three months along with her second.
<pause>
"Margaret! So good to hear from you. It's been a
while."
<pause>
"Huh? Again? So soon after the twins? Why that's
wonderful news!"
<pause>
"This one, too? Oh, Margaret, you devious girl. But you
swore up and down you'd gone on the Pill this time! Tsk
tsk!," Cromwell chuckled. "Next April, eh?"
<pause>
"Well of course I think we should celebrate. I'll drop
by the courthouse around four."
<pause>
"Sorry, no sooner, baby. I'm, uh, deep into something
right now." The spasms of Tawny's climaxing pussy had
him on the brink of an inopportune orgasm. "I
understand sweetheart. Hand in there, I'll come as soon
as I can." (Tawny would see to that, he thought.)
"You'll just have to make do with the vibrator until
then."
<pause>
"You have? Why, sure. I think Oliver would be a very
appropriate name."
The End
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 38