This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please do not remove the author
information or make any changes to this story.  All rights reserved.
---
WARNING: This story contains sexual encounters between men and boys.  Some sex
is consensual, some not. I don't condone it.  I'm not advocating it.  I may or
may not even like it.  It's simply a fantasy, a product of my imagination,
and thus completely fictitious.

Before you read it, please note the following:
   * If you are under eighteen, do not read this story!
   * If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, go away
   * If it's illegal in your jurisdiction to read non-consensual sex stories,
      don’t read this story!!

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==============================================================================


               A Fair (& Impartial) Administration of Justice


by
HumblePie


The scene:  A courtroom in Phantomville where just moments before the trial is
about to resume, the Defendant, Mr. Dick Fagnano is in quiet discussion with
his attorney while the spectators refill the courtroom.

Mr. Fagnano, age 24, works as a billing clerk for the local Gas and Electric.
By way of appearance, he's a slight, wiry young man distinguished by a pair of
glasses resting lopsided upon his nose and a head full of curly blond hair.

It should also be noted that excluding himself and his wife sitting in the
audience, everyone else in the court room is black.  That would include the
judge who is just now entering the courtroom through the side entrance door.

Bailiff: "All rise, the court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Lionel C.
Benoit presiding."

Judge:  "Please be seated.  We will now resume the proceedings."

"Mr. Fagnano, the Defendant in this case, has been charged by the City of
Phantomville with non-compliant of section 405.5 of the Wife Protection
Ordinance, Failure to Comply, to which he pleads not guilty."

"As stated in law:  It is incumbent upon a husband to minimize the need for
any man who finds himself aroused by, or sexually attracted to his wife from
pursuing her. The violation of said section is described under Criminal Code
5655-c as a minimum one year confinement in Phantomville City Jail & a $1,000
fine."

"The defense has presented its case and we will now hear from the prosecution.
Are you ready to present your case, Mr. Jefferson?"

"Yes your honor."

"Fine, then you may call your first witness."

"Thank you, your honor.  If I may, I would like to call Jamal Washington to the
stand."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Washington.  As way of information to the court I would
like to state that you are an active duty police officer for the City of
Phantomville, is that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"In addition, it is a matter of record that you are also known as, Bosco, among
your friends and associates, isn't that correct?"

"Yeah, sure, my ma too, ever since I could remember."

"Please Officer Washington.  A simply yes or no will be sufficient."

"Sorry.  I was just saying that yeah, folks call me Bosco and yes, I've been a
Patrol Officer for three years."

"An officer with an unblemished record, I might add.   And I've been told by
your commanding officer that you represent the finest this city has to offer.
You should be quite proud of that, Officer Washington."

"Ah, well, I ain't heard no complaints."

"Very well, now I wonder if you can tell the court what you were doing on the
night that the matter before this court occurred."

"Sure.  My shift ended at five and after work I headed to the pool hall to line
up a game of Snooker with Kwame."

"You were still dressed in your uniform, correct?"

"Yes sir, I was."

"Go on."

"Well when I got to the pool hall I was told Wishbone had gone to visit Trixie
and would catch me on the rebound."

"Trixie, otherwise known as Mrs. Fagnano, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"And Wishbone, also known as Kwame Johnson, correct?"

"Yeah, that's him." He replied, pointing toward a gentleman sitting amongst the
spectators.  "Anyway, at first I was a bit disappointed to hear that I'd missed
him because I really had my heart set on handing him the plate of whoop-ass he
had coming."

"The disappointment didn't stick with me very long though, at least not after I
got to thinking about Trixie and how I hadn't seen her myself since she got
hitched to the Defendant, Mr. F-F-Fag-a, Fag-a-whatever his name is."

A scattering of chuckles erupts from those in attendance, causing Jamal to look
up and pause.

"Continue, Mr. Washington."

"Yes, well it'd been a whole week since I'd last seen her, and well, that's a
pretty long time to go without.  So I . . ."

"Without?  Without what, Officer Washington?"

"What I'd been missing."

"Yes, and that would be . . .?"

"Hum, well, if you know Trixie, then you know there's a lot there to be
missing.  But if I had to pick just one I'd have to say it's the home cooking."

"Her home cooking?  Well that speaks well of her."

"Yes sir, take it as gospel.  I mean, the oven is always hot, the table set
and the goods nicely spread out just begging you to drive your eating
u-u-utensil down deep into that USDA prime beef.  Um-um, and nothing smells
so sweet."

"It sounds quite gratifying, Officer Washington."

"Let me tell'yah, bro" he followed with a pearly white grin.

"So what happened next, Officer Washington?"

"Well I picked myself up n' followed my nose.  Only when I got there I found
myself a little slow on the uptake because the whole posse was already there
savoring the hospitality."

"The whole posse?  You mean your friends, right?"

"Yes, sir.  That's them sittin' there in the front row.  Ozone, Abdul, Fumbe,
Kwame, Ozi, Chico, Stretch, Tank  . . . the whole lot," he points to where
they are sitting.

"I see.  All fine, law-abiding, tax paying citizens of this fair City, am I
right?"  He asked and then scanned the motley bunch dressed in NBA sneakers
and Celtic jerseys, sitting shoulder to shoulder and taking up the entire
front row.

"Sure thing, they are all law-abiding, tax paying citizens.  Kwame owns the
pool hall on 43rd n' David.  Fumbe owns the Pussycat theatre next door to it,
and Chico and Stretch are in the escort business.  Then you got Ozone who owns
the peepshow arcade and Abdul who owns the massage parlor where Trixie and her
mom work."

"And Ozie . . ?"

"Ah, well, I don't think I'm at liberty to say.  All I can tell you is he has
a license and his business it's legit.  I think!"

"Can you be more specific?"

"Huh!  Well, let's just say they call him Ozi because he gathers up recyclable
beer cans for a living."

"Yes, well let's leave that for a moment shall we so we can again address the
matters before this court.  You've stated that your relationship with Trixie
goes back many years, is that correct."

"That's correct, since High School, her ma too.  They're a hospital family.
The door is always open n' the fridge stocked with Miller High Life, collard
Greens n' ribs.  Nothing wrong with the way they put-out.  For all my friends
too, and it ain't changed since I done known her."

"You mean, nothing has changed other than the fact that she married Mr. Fagnano
 the week prior, correct, Mr. Washington?"

Again, a scattering of chuckles erupts from those in attendance.

"Yes sir, but nothings changed between Trixie n' her friends.  Fact, she told
us so before she asked for his hand in marriage."

"She asked for his hand in marriage?"

"Sure thing, she's a very independent woman. She said she told him that she was
asking him to become part of her life and NOT the other way round.  And that he
was taking the whole package or none at all.  Her words."

"So you had every reason to believe your first meeting with the Defendant would
be amicable, correct."

"Yes sir, no hostilities whatsoever.  Besides, he doesn't offer much in the way
of competition no way.  You can tell just by looking at him.  As for the rest,
Trixie said we needn't worry about that either," he added, then held up his
thumb and forefinger as a measure of distance to clarify the matter.

"Plus she said that Mr. F-F-Fag-a-whatever his name, just plain liked the
stuff."

Again the scattering of chuckles erupted, only this time followed by the
judge's gavel.

Judge:  "I'll have order in this court.  If I hear one more snicker the next
Time Mr. Fagnano's name is mentioned, I'm going to call in the Riot Squad and
have you jackasses summarily executed by firing squad.  Any questions?"  Judge
Benoit inquired, while the Bailiff suspiciously eyeballed those in attendance
with his hand at rest atop his holstered gun.

The silence was deafening, disturbed only by the sound of a pump sliding down
the barrow of a shotgun, and immediately followed with every head in the place
turning toward Ozi.

"Good, now please continue, Mr. Jefferson."

"Yes, thank you your honor.  Now, Officer Washington, I wonder if you might
be able to clarify for this court what she meant when she said that the
defendant 'liked the stuff', quote, unquote?"

"No, I think you need ask the lady 'bout that.  But if you're asking for my
personal opinion I'd say the li'l fella don't know much 'bout the ladies.  Not
much 'bout what he said he be likin' neither."

"So you had no apprehensions about going over to their house unannounced,
correct?"

"Correct.  I didn't think he'd mind if me and Trixie wanted to do a little...”
he hemmed and hawed a moment searching for a word.

"Socializing?" Mr. Jefferson, the prosecuting attorney, completed the thought
for him.

"Yeah, that's the word, socializing.  Only that weren't what I found when I
got there."

"Oh?"

"No sir, it wasn't.  Instead when I walked in the house I found the li'l fella
throwing a hissy fit."

"A hissy fit?"

"Yeah, he was going off on Kwame.  I mean he was just stomping his feet, waving
his arms n' screaming out like some bitch that'd just been stuck. He was cryin'
too."

"He was upset then."

"Yes sir, but it didn't seem to be bothering Wishbone none.  He just kept right
on pulling his pants back up and paying him no mind at all."

"Your honor, I would ask this court to stricken his statement from the record.
The reason why Mr. Kwame, aka Wishbone Johnson had his pants down in the
presence of the Defendant will be clarified shortly in subsequent testimony,
and to consider this testimony at this point and time may well prejudice the
court."

Judge:  "Do I hear any objections from the Defense?"

Defense:  "No your Honor."

Judge:  "The statement will be stricken from the record.  You may proceed,
Mr. Jefferson."

"Thank you, your honor.  Now, Officer Washington, I wonder if you can tell this
court why the Defendant was so upset?"

"Well, at the time I wasn't quite sure, but being an officer of the law n' all
I thought I'd better make it my business before things got out of hand.  So I
did."

"Yes, now please tell this court what happened next?"

"Sure. I stepped up and asked what was goin' on.  Only he didn't answer me
directly. Instead he went right on screaming n' stomping like he wasn't hearing
 me at all.  In fact, he seemed a bite out of control.  Like his head weren't
screwed on tight and wasn't thinking on no rational basis."

"He was behaving irrationally, correct?"

"Yes, in fact he was behaving so irrationally that I thought him a threat, both
to himself as well as others.  So I thought it best to try and settle him down
before pursuing my questioning any further."

"How so?"

"By telling him that everyone there were reasonable folks and that there was no
need to carry on like that.  I then asked him to please settle down."

"And?"

"And, well, I finally got his attention.  He began screaming at me, at which
time he said, and I quote:"

"Settle down? This baboon has just exposed himself to me and you want me to
settle down?"

"Baboon?"  He called Kwame a Baboon?"

"Yipe! Sure did, only I didn't let that bother me none. Instead I just repeated
my request."

"Which was . . . ?"

"Please Sir, I must ask you again to please settle down so we can talk civilly
about this.  Otherwise Kwame here might take a dislike to you.  In which case
you may end up taking on a much bigger load than even a li'l guy like you can
swallow, likin' the
stuff or not."

"How did he respond?"

"He replied, and I quote:"

"Like it? Like it?  Do you think I like this . . .  this, tree dwelling African
primate waving his penis at me?"

"Tree dwelling primate!  My word," the prosecutor shook his head in repulsion.
"So how did you respond, Officer Washington?"

"I told him, 'Look, Mr. F-F-Fag-a-whatever your name is, I'm not going to ask
you again.  Will you please settle down?'"

"But again, he just kept right on screaming out them obscenities, not payin' me
no mind at all."

"That was then he moved in on Kwame, close-in and personal like and got in his
face.  Or tried to, because Kwame is 6-6 and the Defendant is 5-6, so he had to
stand atop his top-toes just to reach his chin."

"To me it looked kind'a funny only I could see that Kwame wasn't taking it so
well.  But when he said to Kwame that he was an animal who belonged in a cage,
well now, that got him darn right fired up."

"Now I know an angry man when I see one, Mr. Jefferson, and I can tell you
straight up, if it hadn't been for my being there, Kwame would have thrown the
li'l fella right out the picture frame window.  Not a good thing at all."

"So believing him a threat to himself and others, I decided to step in and grab
him by the arm in order to bring a stop to it."

"Or leastwise I tried, because before I could ask the Defendant to please come
outside with me, he glared up at me and said, quote:"

"Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!"

"Ape!  He called you an ape?"

"Yo bro.  Which really didn't bother me so much because believe me, I've heard
worse.  It did say a lot about his state of mind, however.  By that time I was
100% certain that the li'l guy had completely lost his head, and that he wasn't
about to follow through with the request of a law enforcement officer in the
performance of his duties."

"So it stands to reason that when he began to reach for something in his pocket
that I'd respond to his action as a threat.  Which I did, and right then n'
there I let him have it."

"You punched him?"

"Yes sir, I knocked the li'l fella clear across the floor.  Sayonara time!
After which I called down to the station, gave my report and the Defendant was
subsequently detained for refusing to comply with the demands of a law
enforcement officer in the performance of his duties."

"I then questioned Kwame and was told the real reason why the li'l guy had
become so enraged, which then led to his subsequent arrest for failing to
comply with the new Wife Protection Ordinance."

"Thus the reason Mr. Johnson had is pants down in the present of the Defendant,
correct?"

"Yes sir, it was. Mr. Johnson was just exercising his rights granted to him
under the law, and the rage expressed by the Defendant was simply his refusal
to comply."

"Well, personally Officer Washington, I see your actions as a job well done.
As do the other law abiding citizen of this town.  However, the Defendant is
pleading in his defense that he was reaching in his pocket for a hanky, not a
weapon.  In addition, he is pleading that he didn't know about the new Wife
Protection Act, nor what was required of him to do."

"Of course, you didn't know that at the time.  And given the pending threat the
 Defendant's actions posed, you were within your rights to take the action you
did.  Furthermore, we all know ignorance of the law is no excuse.  I'm certain
the court will agree with my assessment and due comeuppance for this foul-
mouth, hate mongering, mean-spirited racial bigot will be handed out by the
court in short order."

"Nonetheless, that does not address the anguish neither you nor Mr. Johnson has
suffered as a result of the Defendants hateful racial diatribe.  So on behave
of the fair minded citizens of this city, I'd like to apologize to you, and I
hope you can find forgiveness for this sorely misguided man."

"No problem whatsoever, Jamal, err, Mr. Prosecutor.  I ain't the type to carry
no grudge.  And as for receiving his due comeuppance . . . Well, my personal
opinion is that locking him up doesn't address the real problem.  Whereas a
referral to Dr. Judy, the court appointed therapist, might serve us all in the
long run.  After all, her methodologies do have a long and successful track
record."

"Good point, Officer Washington, I'll ask the court to consider the matter
before deliberation.  Thank you, Mr. Washington.  You may step down."

"Your honor, if it pleases the court I would like to call Mrs. Trixie
Fagnano to the stand."

From the row of seats located immediate behind the Defendant's table, a
curvaceous and sultry young beauty arose up from a gentleman friend's lap and
slowly advanced toward the front of the courtroom with everyone breathlessly
in sync with her every move.

Dressed in 6" lethally spiked heels, she wore a scandalously short black dress.
Tight fit, it clung to her body in all the right places, and she flowed with a
glide that was tantamount to a liquid explosive.  Her skin blanched white, her
lips a fiery red, there were no words to describe her save one.  Trixie
Fagnano was HOT!

She sashayed up to the witness chair, sat down and gracefully crossed one long
leg over the other. Then smiling ever so sweetly, she adjusted the hem of dress
then entwined her fingers over her knee cap.

"M-M-Mrs. F-F-Fagnano," our suddenly tongue-tied prosecuting attorney managed
to eke out.

"What a pleasure," he followed, as did another scattering of chuckles from
those in attendance.

Judge Benoit didn't look to happy, but if you exclude the sound of his grinding
teeth and his incessant fidgeting with his gavel, he sat precariously close,
yet still undecided as to whether the laughter counted as an infringement upon
his ruling or not.

An infringement that could lead to a contempt of court charge if he continued
to incite his anger.

"Madam, do you suppose you and I can come to an agreement?"

"I suppose so, Mr. Jefferson.  What do have in mind?"

"What I have in mind is to try and simplify matters a bit.  These are delicate
matters, sort of speak, that tend to incite the passions.  Something that I
think is in the best interest of this court we try to keep to a minimum."

"Yes, Mr. Jefferson.  How may I help?"

"I would like for you and I to agree to stipulate that in lieu of your
husband's and your shared last name that we hereafter refer to you as
Trixie, your first name alone, and your husband as Dick, his first name
alone, for the remainder of your testimony?"

Again, the scattering of chuckles emerged from the audience.  And again,
Judge Benoit sat idly by, although this time with a scowl and a gaze meant to
put Mr. Jefferson on notice that his patience was wearing thin.

"Dick, Dick," he mumbled to himself.  "Perhaps that wasn't such a wise choice
after all."

"Aaah, pardon, madam, but perhaps the use of the name 'Dick' might not be the
best choice to use given the delicate nature of this case.  Is he known by
another, a middle name, perhaps?"

"Yes," purred Trixie, leaning forward, enticingly so, causing her preponderant
bust to nearly spilling out of her dress. "And that name would be . . . ?"  He
asked while glancing up at Judge Benoit with a nervous little smile.

"Les," she replied.

"Les?" he asked.  "His name is Les?  Dick Les Fagnano?  Are you kidding me?"

"No sir, and it's pronounced 'Fa-jan-no'.  It's Italian.  Dick Les Fa-jan-no.
His mother is Leslie Snipes biggest fan."  Upon which those in attendance
nearly fell out of their seats in laughter.

"Fuck!" he bellowed, throwing his arms up in exasperation.  Not Judge Benoit
however.  He swung down that gavel so hard that the ink well and pen perched
close to the edge flew off, staining the hardwood floor a jet black.

Judge:  "I'll have order, I'll have order NOW!"  Which he quickly got, and
the silence was deafening.

"Mr. Jefferson!  You are trying the patience of this court.  One more
outburst like that and I'm holding you personally responsible.  Do you hear
me, Mr. Prosecutor?"

"Yes your honor, I apology.  However, I think it's going to be very difficult
to keep that from happening again.  One, because of the peculiarity of the
defendant's name and two, because his presence in the room seems only to
further aggravate the problem.  It's a lethal combination that will only get
worse given the personal nature of this witness's testimony."

"Therefore in effort to avoid further disruptions and delays, I'd like to
appeal to the court and ask that he be excused until this witness has
completed her testimony."

Judge:  "Does the Defense have any objections?"

Defense Attorney:  "No sir, this witness was not present at the scene and has
no factual evidence to reveal concerning the conduct of my client during the
incident.  Therefore I have no reason to object."

Judge:  "I was wondering about that myself, Mr. Jefferson.  Why call his wife
to the stand when she didn't witness the incident and has nothing of factual
importance to give to this court?"

Prosecutor:  "Your honor, this witness is not here to present testimony
concerning the guilt or innocence of the Defendant.  I believe those facts are
already well established."

"I have called this witness to give guidance to this court on another critical
matter facing this court.  Sentencing! Just as Officer Washington, our previous
witness has stated, the criminal codes in and of themselves do not always
address what is in the best interest of the felon or the community at large.
A fair and impartial administration of justice is what is at stake here, and
it is my hope that this witness will be able to help in that regard."

"Yes, well, as you know the time to consider matters of sentencing comes after
the establishment of guilt.  Still, since the Defensive has no objections I'd
like to hear what she has to say."

"Bailiff, will you please escort Mr. Fagnano into the holding room."

"You may precede, Mr. Jefferson."

"Thank you, your honor."

"You know, madam, there's something I'm still don't understand," he voiced his
concern. Then for added effect, he first pointed toward the Defense table where
her husband once sat, then pointed toward her while mouthing the words,
"You, him."

"Am I missing something?" he then audibly spoke out.

"You want to know why I wanted to marry him?  What it is that I see in a man
who is so utterly vulnerable, faint and virtually imperceptible when walking
down the street?"

"Yes madam.  I'm looking for evidence that might shed some light on why your
husband was so filled with hate and anger that night."

"Well, to know him is to love him as they say.  I mean, he's not the sort of
monster you portray him to be.  In fact before this incident, I hardly thought
him capable of uttering a bad word."

"It was out of character for him to behave this way.  Is that what you're
telling this court, madam?"

"Yes.  He's a nice guy."

"So you married him because you saw him as a 'nice guy'?"

"No.  Of course not!  He has many remarkable qualities.  Not all of which are
readily apparent.  Still, I can understand your concern.  'Still waters run
deep,' and all else that comes with being a soft spoken, weasley little mama's
boy who keeps his feelings locked up inside only to be expressed in an
explosion of anger at some point later on."

"Yes, madam, I think that pretty much sums up what is at issue before this
court."

"Well, you do have a right to be concerned, as do I, as did his mother before
me.  Concerns she had express to me:"

Quote:  "Although he may not look it or act like it, he does have a set of
balls.  And even as little and none describe as they may be, as long as his
testosterone laden brain keeps trying to convince him he's something he's not,
the potential for rebellion exists.'" Unquote.

"Did his mother seek out help for him?"

"Oh yes, she had help, a 3 foot long leather riding crop that she has since
given to me as a wedding gift to beat his ass raw.  Something she did every
few days whether his behavior warranted it or not.  Sort of a lesson to teach
him that he is not the man his testosterone laden brain is telling him."

Prosecutor:  "You're saying she was a firm believer in that old axiom, 'Spare
the rod, spoil the child,' is that correct?"

"No, no!  I mean, he is 23 years old after all.  Not a child in need of a
reminder to behave.  It was an adult to adult thing.  I say that because she
really didn't see him as a man, and that pretty much sums up what those
whippings were all about.

They were a reminder of his inadequacies.  That he is not equipped to
compete as a man.  A fact she insisted he own up to, which he was quite
willing to do after one of her therapy session.  I saw the exchange
myself, first hand, many times.

She'd pull his pants down, bend him over a trestle and then recite as if
a homily:"

"Any man," swish, thud, ouch!
"Who can shoot a wad," swish, thud, ouch!
"Directly into his own navel," swish, thud, ouch!
"Is a better man," swish, thud, ouch!
"Who demands your respect," swish, thud, ouch!
"Your adoration," swish, thud, ouch!
"And your humble servility," swish, thud, ouch!
"Isn't that correct son?"  She'd conclude while giving him a hug.

Then after pulling out a tissue to dry his eyes, she would smooth over the
rough edges while setting her dear sweet 'Les-ley' straight:"

"Remember son," she'd always begin in effort to console him. "Mother loves
you very much.  You are a very special person, with many admirable qualities.

I mean, you can cook, clean and sew on par with the best homemaker.  As well,
you are a loyal and trustworthy employee who has his employer's complete trust
and confident. I needn't remind you that you alone are responsible for keeping
his office clean and managing the coffee room.  Not to mention having sole
responsibility for licking all of those stamps.

I'm told you are quite the woman pleaser too.  Or so, your sweetheart,
Ms. Trixie Ambrosia, assures me.  Always quick to remind me of how
committed you are to the relationship, and how you enjoy licking up all the
gummy, gamy, gooey sloop from her snatch that she brings home for you to enjoy
each and every day.

How you find it tasteful and delicious, and how you're not the least bit
offended by the rank, heady smell.  And the best part is, you are performing
a vital service for her in cleaning out all those natural womanly excretions.
She enjoys it too.

Nobody can say my darling sweet boy doesn't know how to please a woman.

You have a kind and gentle and loving nature my son.  All of which I see as
very manly attributes which building upon can only fill your life with
happiness.  So don't go dwelling on the negatives.

It doesn't matter that you're not strong and virile like a real man and can't
compete. Nor does it matter one iota that your little wiener would do a Vienna
sausage proud.  You have admirable qualities and you need be proud of it.

So forget what those nasty hormones are telling you and use your time
constructively, thinking of ways to deal with the hand you have been deal.
Though menial as that hand may be, you do have much to build on.

Trust me, you do.  No matter what the men at the office and those you meet
on the street imply with their ridicule and the threats. All of which is
meant solely to diminish you more than you already are.

Not at all fair, I know.  But that's the way men are, always quick to press
the advantage to gain the upper hand.  Unlike you who must find alternative
solutions to problem solving.

That's why I say, it's far wiser and smarter for you to build on what you have.
Humility, resignation and compliance; the skill sets necessary to manage
conflict and peacefully resolve issues in a manner beneficial to all.

So rather than take the shellacking you'd surely have coming if you're foolish
enough to believe you can complete, learn how to build a rapport with those
manly men who are better than you.  Learn how to pay homage to them to win
their trust and their confidence.  Not to mention their hearts, the secret of
peaceful coexistence."

Prosecutor:  "Hum, well, I know some might disagree, but it certainly sounds
to me like the woman knew how to snip potential problems at the bud. Don't you
agree, Mrs. Fagnano?"

"Yes, in that regard I believe in his mother's philosophy and her tact
wholeheartedly. A realistic view of one's self is very important in this
world, especially when you are the little fellow and the lone men out.

So yes, I plan on using the whip myself.  To curb the mistaken believe that
he's something he is not, which is bound to crop up from time to time.

I've not done so yet because up to now, I didn't see a need. Apparently, I was
wrong.  This incident does show that I should have been more diligent,
irregardless of the fact that we had only been married 3 days.  Two of which
we were on our honeymoon.

But I can assure you, it won't happen again.  Not on my watch.  The whipping
horse that I've just had installed in my basement should speak to the measures
I'm prepared to take.  The paddle and the wire whip as well.  All of which I
plan on making extensive use of.

So why keep him you ask?  Why go through the bother?  Well, like I said he has
his qualities. Amazing qualities actually, the most important of which requires
a bit of background before I proceed.  Please, allow me to explain."

Prosecutor: "Please do, madam."

"Yes.  Well, it was early morning and I was just leaving the club.  I was in a
hurry to get home and in my haste I hurriedly pushed a bit too hard on the
front door, causing it to swing rapidly outward onto the sidewalk amidst the
flow of pedestrian traffic.  Fortunately it missed the lady pushing a baby
carriage, but I cold-cocked him, laying him out flat on the sidewalk.

To make matters worse, he had in his hands a cake that he was taking back home
to his mother.  An errand he was hurrying to complete before he left for
work that morning.  Well, needless to say where that cake was now.  He was
wearing it.  On his face, his shirt, even his shoes.

Anyway, I saw him lying there struggling to get back up to his feet and I
thought to myself what a pathetic scrawny little dip-shit of a guy.  Still,
I had been the cause of the accident so I helped him up, apologized and then
helped him brush away the remnants of the cake from his clothes.  While he
wiped his face clean using the back of his hand.

After he had put himself back together the best he could, I happened to spot
a large clump of icing he had missed still clinging to the very bottom of his
chin.  So I brought it to his attention and expected that he'd wipe it off
with the back of his hand as well.  Only that wasn't what happened.

Instead, the most marvelous thing I'd ever seen took place right before my
eyes.  He parted his lips and snaked out a tongue that was long enough to
reach down a good 3 inches, formed a cusp at the tip and spooned that bad boy
off, bringing it back up to his mouth and swallowing it down.

"Now I'm not talking some weasely little thing like you've got, Mr. Jefferson.
I'm talking Anaconda.  Honestly, I feel quite comfortable saying that he
probably could have done the same had that icing been pasted to his brows."

I've got to tell you right off.  Bells and whistles were ringing in my head.
And suddenly, he didn't look so pathetic or dip-shit anymore.  Now I couldn't
wait to get him home to test out the mechanics of the 5+ inches of dick in his
mouth.

And in short order, that's what I did.  My apartment of course, and after
striping off his clothes under the pretext of needing a wash, I pulled down
his undies and went fishing for what I knew had to be there, but apparently
lay timidly hidden beneath that small tuft of pubic hair.

I found it, of course.  Or, at least found what his mother called a
Micro-penis.  A wee little guy that when erect, measuring a full 3, 5/8 inches
in length, and just barely 3 inches around in circumference.  That approximates
the size of your thumb, Mr. Jefferson.

Bigger than most micro-wees I'm told.  But from where I was coming from, it
didn't make one iota of difference.  He was destined to pull on that wee
little thing himself regardless, as I laid back, spread my legs, and told my
darling sweet boy to whip out that snake.

Now, you've got to remember, I had been on my way home after a very long night
of partying.  I was inflamed and swollen and overflowing down there.  A girl
would have needed a fire hose to clean all that out, or, if she should be so
lucky, just my darling sweet boy.  And the best part of all - He liked it! He
thought it was all me, and quite frankly, couldn't get enough.

Of course later, after I'd met his mother, a lot of that innocent naiveté was
explained away.  She'd told me that because of his 'condition,' she refused to
allow him to date.  Thus he had no experience with women at all.  Instead, she
kept him home tied to her apron.

Not that she had to be too strong headed about it as I doubt he would have had
much luck in the dating pool regardless.  Besides, who's to argue with his
mother?  She did turned out one dandy little housekeeper after all.  He knows
how to cook, Italian, and he can sew.  He even wore an apron about the house
he had made himself.

In short, it made for a pretty exciting package, and I couldn't wait to come
over to visit each night. Where his mother and I would sit in the family room
and talk and become familiar with one another while her 'Les-lie' finished
preparation of the evening meal.

I can assure you that the lady was never at a loss for words.  I found her
enjoyable to talk to and found that we shared many things in common.  She also
had a keen interest in me and would often talk ad-infinitum about how her son
felt about me.

Like how I was the most glamorous lady he'd ever met.  How much he admired me,
and how he so dearly loved shoving that devilishly delightful tongue deep into
my womanly fundamentals to perform the much needed douching for me each night.
But most of all, how much her sweet boy simply loved both the strong gamy
aroma and heady taste of the slop that ran like thick porridge from between
my legs.

"Normally, he's such a light eater," I recall her saying one evening.  "That's
the first time I've ever heard him belch."

For some reason she seemed quite pleased about that and wanted to know how I
managed to work up so much in the way of 'natural womanly excretions' for her
son to consume each day?

So I endeavored to clarify the matter by explaining that I worked as a massage
therapist at the Foxy Lady massage parlor, located downtown next door to the
Pussycat Adult Theater.

She wasn't at all shocked to hear that, which I found rather interesting.  In
fact she gave me the biggest and warmest hug I'd ever received from another
woman.  And after I further went on to tell her about the posted price list,
and then told her my own, she gave me a kiss and complimented me on what a
smart and industrious girl I was.

She even wanted to know if they hired "sweet boys there too?"

I had to tell her that they hadn't as yet, but that I'd look into
it for her.

When her 'Les-lie' entered to announce the dinner ready our discussion would
come to an end.  But if I need be honest, all the while li'Dickey and I picked
at our salads, I couldn't stop thinking about what I would be serving up for
dessert.  How I'd pull down his pants and tell him to lay flat on his back and
say'Aaaaah.'

From there it was simply a matter of hopping aboard, straddle his mouth and
Let the spigot flow.

If I had to guess I'd have to say he consumed at least a liter that first
week alone.  All with his mother's blessing, of course.  Her only request
was that he saved room in his tummy for the lamb chop which he had yet to eat.
And seldom did, not after the deluge I'd served up.

Nonetheless she would try to get him to finish that Lamb chop, but only after
scolding my darling sweet boy for not picking his teeth clean of the pubic
hairs stuck between.  Likewise, for not cleaning off the crusted gunk still
plastered to his lips and gums.

Of course her scolding wasn't all that much.  Yes, she complained when she
found some puddles still lingering between his cheek and gums.  And yes, she
complained when she had to peel off the crust that covered his lips like thin
transparent layers of loose skin. Yes, she complained, but not really all that
much.

I think it was because he seemed so content - and full! Otherwise, everything
was just a matter of a problem in need of a solution.  Like lipstick, my shade
of red, applied beforehand as a protective layer to keep the little critters
from sticking to his lips like glue.

Such was our courtship, and as short as those 2 weeks might seem to some, it
was happiness times 100 for me.  My darling sweet boy happy to eat until he
popped, his mother forever prepared to freshen up his lip with that same shade
of red.

She even went shopping for the widest assort of panties for him to wear, both
in colors and styles to fit my mood.  What more could you want?  He had become
my own little douche bag with glasses resting lopsided upon his nose, and a
mouth that served as a sump-pump to slurp up the sludge.  Heavenly!

And then there was that tongue of his!  What an animal.  Fifteen minutes,
that's all it took for the ravenous beast to clean out my cavernous abyss to a
spit-shine.  Of course he spent the next 45 minutes cleaning up after my
multi-organisms.  A process that could have gone on all night if not for the
frequent interrupts of his mother.

I mean, I know the lipstick looks pretty and does serve a useful purpose.  But
why the constant need to ask me to rise up so she could freshen it up?

Gawd, I couldn't wait to make him all mine.

Which I did, with mother standing at my side, I got down on bended knee, took
his hand and asked my darling sweet boy if he would be my spouse.  And when he
said yes, I slipped that ring on his finger then wiped away his tears of joy.

Moments later, I was on the phone lining up a minister for the coming Friday,
and then arranged for a weekend honeymoon at the Starlight Hotel.  That's the
place downtown that occupies the top 3 floors of the building above the massage
parlor where I work.

Oh sure, I know I could have done better.  But he did get to wear white and
carried the traditional bouquet as his mother had wished.  His mother thought
it added just the right touch.  I had to agree.

I suppose I could have done better in terms of the accommodations as well.
Everybody knows the Starlight is nothing if not ghetto on steroids, but hey! I
needed to keep him supplied.  And it didn't all come from me either.  All the
girl's working down at the parlor saved it up and kept it refrigerated in one
large beaker for me to take home as a wedding gift, red ribbon bow and all.

I didn't tell him it was from them, of course.  Rather I told him it was all
mine.  A wedding gift of my natural womanly excretions I'd saved up for him
during the working hours.

Still the number of little smiley faces penned inside the attached
congratulatory card should have provided enough of a clue to have figured it
out.  I mean what fool won't have?

If not, then what's to be said about the overall nose, texture and taste of
the proffered gastronomical delight? The robust complexity of fragrances found
in the heady pungent bouquet.  The unusual stringy, almost chewy texture,
coupled with its rich and nutty full-bodied flavor.  It wasn't his usual
'repas de gourmet'.  And what more proof did he need than the bold ripe
Finish; The aftertaste that lingered after swishing it about in his mouth.

Yet he didn't say a single word, save his complaint that he wished it was warm
and he could drink it from its source.  Which I assured him one day he would,
and he smiled.  The followed up bubbly burp should say all that need be said
about how grateful he was.

So when we returned home the following Monday, the day all this occurred, he
remained as unsuspecting as the first day we met. Just the way I wanted him to
stay.  However, the boys showed up and, well, the rest as they say is history.

But again, I don't think it's fair to accuse him of being a monster when I
Know he is not.  Is he in need of a good thrashing?  You bet!  To remind him
That equating himself to a real man is simply the mother lode of false pride.

Does that mean I want to whip every last shred of his manhood out of him?

No silly, of course not.  Not every last shred, anyway.  Jeez!  Why would I?
You don't find many that have a taste for lapping up a vat full of another
man's oozing spooge out of his wife's fanjita.  And do so with a smile as
large as a Kansas moon?  Well, in my eyes, that's a quality worth keeping.

I like the fact that he's a quick learner too.  I mean, it only took 10 lashes
of that whip to get him to own up to his shortcomings as a man. Had his mother
given him 5 more, I'm convinced she could have gotten him to spread'em for the
entire U.S. Army if she was of a mind.

But we've got to be realistic about this too. He isn't equipped to compete
With real men, at least not with the equipment and skill-sets he's got.  So if
he is to survive he needs to learn alternative strategies to resolve conflict.

Throwing hissy-fits isn't going to cut it. Neither will joining a monastery or
going mano e mano.  Hiring a body guard?  Not unless he can go 12 rounds with
World Heavyweight Champion, Vitali Klitschko. So those options are gone. Kaput!
Gone the way of the Cassette Recorder; the three dollar six pack of beer and
The great American Heavyweight Champions of yesteryear.

Nonetheless, not all is lost.  Not if he's willing to open himself up to the
possibilities that like we women, and the other peacemakers of this world, he
too can learn to manage conflict and peacefully resolve issues when confronted
by better, more superior men.

And the great thing is, he can do so using the skill-set he already owns – his
unassuming nature and his compliant disposition.  That's what separates him
from the herd, and that's the key to winning a man's heart, love and affection,
rather than getting the shit beaten out of you.

Simply put, only the bravest of men know that it's far better to just give in
and surrender, kiss and make up, than it is to waste time and energy crying
and pouting and throwing a hissy-fit.  Smarter too, especial when you're a
little guy like him, when 'holding out' only increases his feeling of
inferiority.

I say, build on what you've got.  Employ the bonding skills we women use to
develop rapport and to please our man.  Like humility, resignation and knowing
how to pay homage when Johnny Humongous comes knocking at your back door.

That can only bring success.  And success equals reward.  No more feelings of
inferiority.   No more tears over how insignificant he is in comparison to a
real man.

Of course I'm sure there will be obstacles that may take some time to overcome.
Like hearing names like faggot, sissy, cocksucker or penis-breath, bantered
about.  You know names can be hurtful if you don't understand that they are not
always meant as derogatory.  On the contrary, more often than not they are
meant as terms of endearment.

I mean, what man would even bother to waste his breath if he didn't care. To me
that's a good sign.  It shows that you've not only won his trust and respect,
but that he likes you too.  The same holds true when asked to bend over and
spread your cheeks.  What better expression of a man's feeling than to want to
stick it clear up to your eyeballs in one mighty thrust, just as he would his
own bride. Quite the compliment, I'd say.

But I feel certain he'll overcome that too.  Not just because he loves me and
doesn't want to lose me, but because he has all the attributes needed to make
a splendid sissy whore.

Besides, it's his responsibility to do so under our current law, and the last
thing he wants is to become a lawbreaker. Personally, I feel pretty darn proud
to live in a city that has the wisdom to enact laws that place humility,
resignation and compliance above all else.  They are admiral qualities build
into the character of the peacemakers of this world, so why not my darling
sweet boy too.  He should be equally giving of himself to whomever.

Whether it's me asking him to clean out my lover's slop or Dwight, asking him
to clean off his dick. What better way to keep in touch with how insignificant
he is compared to a real man.  Good medicine I say.  It might even give him
second thoughts the next time that testosterone laden brain of his tries to
fill him with a false sense of pride.

I mean, I think it would be pretty damn hard thinking manly thoughts when
you've got a better, more superior man's twelve inch dick stuffed down his
throat.

Don't you agree, Mr. Jefferson?"

Again, a scattering of laughter erupts among those in attendance.

"Well I . . . ah, suppose so, madam."

"Yes, well, his mother also agrees.  A woman I admire and respect.  So the
answer to your question is no, Mr. Jefferson.

No, my husband is not the monster you portray him to be.  He's just my darling
sweet boy in need of a good whooping.  I feel strongly that he will emerge a
better person for it.  Less apt to pout and cry and more apt to embrace
alternative solutions to problem solving. Like how to bond and develop rapport,
while garnishing the trust and respect of more superior men.  Men who would
otherwise beat him to a pulp.

I'm certain he can make the required accommodations, and will find a way to win
over hearts using the skill-sets employed by the peacemakers of this world, as
well as those that we women use to please our man. That much I can promise you.
In fact, I feel so confident that he will make the necessary accommodations
that I would like to extend an invitation to anyone, if not everyone in this
courtroom to come visit with us in 30 days time.

If by that time you don't find him amenable to snuggling up to you while smile
prettily and slipping his hands down your pants, it's only because he's already
busy consuming mass quantities of that gamy, gooey, oozing frothy from some
guy's dick."

---

So ends her long winded and quite detailed 30 minute explanation concerning
Her reasons for marrying her husband.  It was a noteworthy speech, and now
done, the long silenced courtroom stood up in applause as her husband,
Dick-Les Fagnano was escorted back into the room.

Prosecutor:  "I see.  Well, thank you, madam.  I think you've spoken quite
eloquently on behalf of husband and yourself.  I also think you've done this
community a great service in pointing out that the newly penned Wife Protection
Ordinance is performing exactly as it should."

Judge Benoit: "I agree, Mr. Jefferson.  Had it not been in place we would have
never known the true nature of Mr. Fagnano's problem and in error, tagged the
sad little fella as a violent racist bigot without any socially redeemable
value. A crime of which would have allowed me to incarcerate him for as long
as the law will allow."

Prosecutor: "Correct, your honor.  Thanks to her testimony we now have a clear
understanding as to the nature of his problem as well as the appropriate legal
remedies to be exercised by this court.  Personally, I feel a debt of gratitude
for Mrs. F-F-Fa . . . Oh hell!  For Trixie's help."

Judge: "And I you, Mr. Prosecutor.  Who says you're not ready for a judgeship.
Does the Defense wish to present a closing argument?"

Defense Attorney:  "No your Honor.  The Defense rests."

"Does the Prosecution wish to present a closing argument?"

Prosecutor:  "No your Honor, the prosecution rests its case."

Judge Benoit: "Then I'm prepared to hand down the verdict. I, Lionel C. Benoit,
hereby find the Defendant, Mr. Dick Les Fagnano, guilty of Failure to Comply
under section  405.5 of the Wife Protection Ordinance, and is hereby sentenced
to confinement for a period of one year in Phantomville City Jail, pursuant to
Criminal Code 5655-c."

"However, in lieu of the circumstances in this case, I shall suspend my
decision and surrender the Defendant into the custody of his wife for a period
of 30 days, his progress to be monitored by Dr. Judy.   If by that time
Mr. Fagnano has not demonstrated a willingness to comply with the laws of this
city, I shall immediately reinstate my verdict and turn him over to
Phantomville City Jail for a period of 1 year and subject to a fine of $1,000."

"This court is dismissed."

30 days later. . .

At the Fagnano residence:  Knock, Knock!

"O-o-o-oh Ty-Ty-Ty-Tyrone," Trixie Fagnano s-s-s-stammered. She is down on all
fours with Ozi kneeling behind relentlessly pounding his beefy (salami-sized),
10 inch bone into her like a rapid fire machine gun.

"Do y-y-you think y-y-you c-c-c-could an-an-answer the d-d-door f-f-for me,
p-p-p-please."

Laying flat on his back beneath is wife, Mr. Fagnano looks up from his task
and sees the upside-down image of both Judge Benoit and Prosecutor Jamal
Jefferson standing with hat in hand.

"O-o-o-oh, y-y-your hon-hon-honor." He manages to get out while being slammed
incessantly by Ozi's swinging balls. Given their billiard ball size, he looked
to be taking quite a beating. However, he did seem quite content, both he and
Ozi enjoying their now enviable rapport.

"Well now, good evening to you Mr. Fagnano.  You look quite busy."

Ozi looked back and upon seeing the judge came to a stop, thus providing
Mr. Fagnano with an opportunity to withdraw his tongue and stuff it back into
the slosh-pit of collated scum that filled mouth.

"Gulp!  Ah, yes sir, I am kind of busy, but I think Ozi is almost done – For
now.  So if you don't mind waiting a short bit I'm sure Wishbone, Kwame, Tank,
and Ozone, Bosco and Rocco, Dwight and Ramrod won't mind your advancing to the
head of the line - both yourself as well as Mr. Jefferson."

"Well, I see no reason why not.  I've had this boner since the day I met your
wife and well . .  the law is the law.  Correct, Mr. Fagnano?"

"Yes sir, it is.  And please, do call me Leslie."

The end?

Acknowledgments:  Wife Protection Ordinance courtesy of C.D.E.
http:// www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/CDE
  Where you will find the mother lode of great stories

Comments:  HumblePie@gawab (.com)

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A Fair Administration of justice