## Archive-name: mike30

From: fr582@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Max S. Wojtylak)

Subject: REPOST Mike30 Night Court

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

NIGHT COURT: Well-Hung Jury

By Uncle Mike

"What's next, Mac?" Judge Harry T. Stone twirled his gavel idly as the two hookers were taken away to the lockup.

"Last one of the night, your Honor," the court clerk said, slipping the folder in front of the judge. "Public indecency."

"I always like to go out with a bang, Mac," the judge said. "OK, Dan, what have we got here? Buns on the run? Or the whole hot dog?"

"More like a cocktail frank from the looks of him," the assistant district attorney said, approaching the bench. Dan Fielding was a tall, dark-haired man with a leer permanently etched on his face.

"The defendant," Fielding began, "is one Peter Little ..." His eyebrows soared as he turned to the bedraggled man next to him, whose head came barely to Dan's shoulders. "No, really?"

"Hey, no jokes," the man snarled. "I'm sick of people making fun of my name, picking on me, you know. I'm always getting the short end of the stick."

"I would've thought the short end was what you gave them," Dan said. Judge Stone gaveled him to attention.

"But anyway. Mr. Little exposed his, uh, stick, to a group of Bible Society women in Central Park. They were able to definitely ID him by, ah, shall we say, size."

"Uh-huh," the judge said, leaning over the bench to look down at Little. "So what's his side of it?"

Christine Sullivan, the pert blond public defender, looked up from her notes. "He was only bird-watching, your honor," she said. "Isn't that right, Dick -- I mean, Peter?"

"Y-yeah, right, I was bird-watching," the man mumbled.

"Yes," Dan interjected, "that's what he told the police, too. And just what kinds of birds was he watching, Christine?"

She looked again at her notes and blushed. "I don't think that's rele..."

"Tits!" Little said, smiling. "I was watching a beautiful pair of tits!"

"A hobby I enjoy myself," Dan smirked, giving Christine a wink.

"I see," the judge said, flipping closed the folder. "Well, Mr. Little, for tonight you'll have to be the birdman of the lockup. Bull, take him away." Harry looked down at Mac, who nodded, before turning back to the courtroom. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a wrap."

As he stepped down from the bench, Harry handed the folder to Mac. "I don't know what it is," he said, stifling a yawn, "but I'm really bushed tonight. I think I'll take a nap in my office before I head home. How about you, Mac?"

"Oh, I've got some paperwork to finish up, and then Quon Lee is picking me up. We're looking for a new couch," the clerk said, hiking up the sleeves of his sweater.

Meanwhile Dan and Christine were at their respective tables, stuffing papers into their briefcases. "Hey, Christine, want to do some bird-watching tonight?" Dan said. "I bet we can find a great pair of ..."

"Dan!" Christine didn't know why she always let herself get so irritated with Dan's remarks. He seemed to get some kicks just out of getting her mad, but try as she might she could never just ignore him. "Just put a sock in it," she snapped at him.

"Oh, but Christine, you'll love my nest ..."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing. "You can forget it, Dan. You won't have anything to crow about tonight!" She giggled. "Get it? Crow?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Well, see you tomorrow," he said, tucking his briefcase under his arm.

Christine was about to toss the last folder into her own briefcase when she noticed a couple of empty blanks. "Darn!"

"What's wrong, Christine?"

Mac's voice startled her; she hadn't realized anyone else was left in the courtroom. Christine gathered up some of her papers, walked over to his desk and handed them over.

Mac grabbed them with a big, dark hand.

"See those blanks," she implored him. "Those, right. I didn't get the next-of-kin or the address. Do you have those?"

Mac nodded and pulled out the man's folder, transferring the information to Christine's files.

As he worked Christine sat on the edge of his desk. Her tight beige skirt rode up as she crossed her long, lithe legs. She wiggled one foot encased in a high-heeled pump, impatiently. Then she looked down at Mac and realized she shouldn't be taking her anger out on him. "Thanks a lot, Mac," she said. "I really appreciate this. It's always nice to remember there's one gentleman in the courtroom." She let out an unladylike snort.

"Are you letting Dan get to you?" Mac looked up from his files.

Christine hesitated. She knew she had a tendency to gush out her troubles to anyone who'd listen, and she'd made a resolution to stop. But Mac seemed genuinely concerned.

"Oh, Mac, I don't know why I let him get to me," she said, scooting down off the table and turning to face him. "He just -- just -- oooh, I don't know. He knows how to push my buttons."

As Christine bent over the table to talk, she exposed the deep, sensuous cleft of her well-developed chest. She did it unthinkingly. For all Dan's lecherous advances, Christine still thought of herself as the mousy girl she was in high school, before puberty. She was quite unaware of her own lush sexuality, a naivete that made her all the more attractive.

So it was with her breasts looming in Mac's face that she told him how angry Dan made her, how frustrated she was by having to work next to him night after night.

And when she hooked a leg over the table while she went on, she exposed a perfect thigh -- smooth, tanned, exquisitely shaped. And yet she did it without intent.

But as Mac talked to her, counseling her, urging her not to take Dan seriously, she became aware of her attraction to him. Mac was a big, strapping hunk of a man, with a broad chest and well-muscled brown arms. Without quite knowing why, Christine began to wonder what it would be like to have a man like Mac as her lover.

He was gentle, kind, polite -- all that she knew from working with him. But was he also as strong as he looked? Was he as big -- all over?

"So, Christine, you have to stop letting him get to you," Mac was concluding. "He's not going to change. And when you try to argue with him, it just encourages him." He looked Christine straight in the eyes. With a flush, she realized she was getting wet -- down there.

Embarrassed by her reaction, Christine snatched up the papers. "Thanks, Mac, I've..."

As she turned to go, her fumbling fingers dropped one of the sheets. She stooped to pick it up at the same time Mac got out of his chair to retrieve it. Their hands touched, his arm brushing against her breast.

They froze for a moment.

"Here -- uh," Mac burbled as he clutched the paper, still half bent over.

"I've got it, I --" Christine faltered.

They both rose, standing with their faces only inches apart, Mac's dark visage bent to Christine's pale skin.

It seemed the most natural thing for Christine to put her arms around his shoulders and lift her lips to his. Their mouths touched, tentatively at first. Then hungrily, Mac's arms enfolding Christine's petite body and pressing it to him. She felt his probing tongue and met it with her own.

They kissed -- it seemed like forever to her. And then they moved apart. Mac looked away, then down at his feet. Christine didn't know what to say. She felt a little wobbly. Her panties were soaked with secretions.

"Christine, I..." Mac began. And then she knew what to do. Christine moved toward him, her arms curving around his waist. Their lips met again, pressing together, mouths open, devouring each other.

Mac's fingers moved to her silken blouse, fumbling at the buttons until they popped loose. Christine shrugged off the sleeves and unhooked her bra, letting it slip down and expose the massive mounds capped with rosy circles and stiffening little buds.

Mac took each in one of his large hands, palming them, rubbing the sensitive nipples.

Christine tugged his sweater and shirt out of his waistband and caressed his flat stomach.

They kissed again, greedily, so hard that flashing lights danced before Christine's closed eyes.

And then Mac tore off his shirt and sweater and knelt before her. Gently he unzipped her skirt and tugged it down, then her pantyhose and panties. He put his face between her pale thighs and approached her musky slit.

Christine held her breath as he approached. Mac kissed the insides of her thighs, the small bush of yellow hair, licked at the outer lips. She was going crazy. No man had ever been willing to do this to her. What would -- Oh God! Now he separated her labia with his fingers and slipped his hot tongue inside. Fluids gushed out of her as Christine shivered and shook to an instant orgasm. But Mac continued, teasing her opening, tickling her clit, driving her to new heights.

It became too much. As she felt herself toppling to another orgasm she pushed him away.

"I want you," she told him, her voice deep and husky with lust. The thought of his cock inside her was all she could focus on. She envisioned it large, but even so when it sprang free as Mac peeled off his slacks she gasped. It was huge! Eight inches of thick, dark rod, with a fat bulbous head leering at her with its single eye. She spread her legs far apart and lay back on the desk, shoving all the papers to the floor.

"Put it in me, Mac," she begged, writhing beneath him, caressing her own breasts.

"Here it comes," he said in his quiet voice. She felt the head at her entrance and looked up. It was too big, she thought, too big -- but then it was in her! And she felt her walls giving way as Mac's massive shaft split her wide open.

It was a feeling unlike any before. Never had she felt so filled, so sated. Mac fed his snake into her deeper, deeper. He lifted her legs, holding them high. And then it was all the way in. Christine shrieked with delight.

But the best was yet to come. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly he moved his cock out of her, and then in. The tantalizing rhythm kept her close to the edge but not over it. Emotions flooded her brain. Her entire body seemed aboil.

"Fuck me, Mac!" Christine shouted, not knowing where the words came from. "Fuck me with that big, black cock! Oh, YES!"

Mac obliged, beginning to drive his rod into her faster, and then still faster. Christine's body jerked and swayed under the impacts, her breasts bobbing up and back as she slid on the now sweat-slickened desk.

"Take it all, Christine," Mac urged her. "Let me feel it all in you, girl."

"Yes, yes!" Christine felt a hot blast starting in her cunt and spreading to every cell. "I'm cumming again," she shouted, stunned by her body's reaction. "Oh, God, Mac, Oh, YYESSSSSS!"

The orgasm took control, sending tremors to every muscle.

And then Mac took two or three long, deep strokes. "I'm gonna cum, Christine," he moaned. "I'm gonna CCCUUMMMMMMM!"

She felt his hot jism blast into her as the thrashing waves of her own orgasm receded.

Christine opened her eyes and looked deep into Mac's. What she saw there made her mind reel. His thoughts were unmistakable.

Without a word, Christine slid off the desk and embraced the tall black man again, kissing him deeply. They held each other close. And then she kissed her way down his chest until she was kneeling before his sagging, shriveled cock. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. Opening her mouth, she bent and took him into her.

Lost in their passion, Mac and Christine didn't hear the door to the courtroom open behind Mac's desk, and they didn't see Mac's wife, Quon Lee, take a step inside. Nor did they see the look of shock on her face give way quickly to horror and then a fierce anger.

The short Asian woman shuddered with rage. She was jealous at even trivial things; this made her so mad that her fists clenched into tiny balls, her nails digging red welts in her palms. Her lips tightened to a thin, pale line. Her teeth gritted together. She wanted to kill them, to hit them, to stab them, to destroy them. She wanted to erase this scene from the face of the Earth.

In a small corner of her mind, a shred of humanity hung on, horrified by the vivid red anger flashing in the rest of her brain. It pulled her back, back into the corridor. Somehow she managed to close the door softly as she edged away.

Her mind was still whirling as she stepped back into the middle of the long hall, not quite sure where she was. She stared around blindly until her eyes fastened on a nameplate, the one announcing the office of Judge Harry T. Stone.

Quon Lee took several deep breaths. The sight of Judge Harry's office had somehow brought her back to reality. She felt a bit more in control.

And then, through the heavy wooden door of the courtroom, she heard Mac, her husband, shouting out Christine's name and calling on her to suck his dick.

Feeling the anger stir within her again, Quon Lee forced herself to run into the judge's office.

The lights were still on; that surprised her a bit. Then she saw the judge lying down on the couch, just a few feet from the door. Her mind grabbed at the hope that he would talk to her, calm her down, somehow convince her that what she saw wasn't really happening -- or, at least, keep her from killing the only man she'd ever loved. At least that.

Quon Lee took a few steps toward him and noticed that the judge's eyes were closed.

"Judge Harry?" she called softly. "Judge?"

He didn't stir.

The judge -- tall, sandy-haired, dressed now just in a shirt, jeans and sneakers -- was sound asleep, Quon Lee realized. She tip-toed up to him, just to make sure.

"Harry?"

Not a peep.

For a second she was crushed. No one to talk to! No one to tell her troubles to! Now what would she do?

Unbidden, the picture came to her mind again of Christine Sullivan, that beautiful naked white woman, deep-throating her husband's big black dick.

But this time, while it made her angry, it also made her hot. Quon Lee thought of Mac's monster, his big eight inches cleaving her tight cunt, driving into her ...

And all the while she was looking down at Judge Stone.

Tentatively, hesitantly, Quon Lee reached down with one well-manicured finger and touched his chest. Still no movement. With her nail she traced down his chest to the snap at the waistband of his jeans.

She glanced up at his face to be sure. Nothing. Her eyes focused again on his crotch, Quon Lee undid the snap and slowly slid open the zipper.

She paused then. She knew she was going to fuck the judge, to show her husband two could play at that game, and to slake her rising lust. But for a brief moment she thought about backing away. But then what? Mac was probably still getting a blow-job from Christine. Could she just wait patiently in the hallway until he was done? No, she could not.

Could she go home? Pretend she had forgotten to pick him up? Pretend this night never happened? No, the image burned into her mind was too sharp.

And the other alternatives ... no. No, the only way she could live with Mac after this -- the only way she could live with herself -- was to do this, now, to make it tit for tat and then move on.

Quon Lee stepped back from the couch and undid the buttons down the front of her pink, flowered dress. It slid to the floor and she stepped out, kicking off her shoes.

She had a small, almost boyish figure, with small breasts and hips only slightly wider than her waist. As she pulled off her bra and panties, she pictured Christine's lush body, the huge, heaving breasts, the wide ass. Was that what Mac really wanted? Was that what he dreamed about when he was fucking her?

She squeezed her arms together and looked down. Even then, her breasts were only small bulges. Quon Lee sighed.

But the fire in her loins was unabated. She bent down and carefully parted the judge's pants at the zipper. Slowly, with just her fingertips, she caressed his small cock through the thin material of his briefs, checking again and again that he was still asleep. Patiently she drew forth his manhood until it was, at last, bulging hard, its tip beginning to poke out underneath the elastic of the waistband.

While she stroked the judge's cock, Quon Lee's other hand caressed her own sex, until it was hot and wet and ready. She raised her hand to her face and sniffed, intoxicated with the scent of her own liquor.

For one last moment she looked down at Judge Harry. Then, in a rush of decision, the small Asian woman yanked down his pants and briefs. Instantly his cock sprung free. At six or seven inches, it was neither as long nor as large as Mac's, but it would have to do. Without hesitation Quon Lee stepped onto the couch, swung a leg over the judge's body and squatted down. In an instant she grasped his cock, raised it to her tunnel and drove it in.

She was so fast that Harry was still blinking his eyes when his rod entered her.

"Quon Lee! Quon Lee?" He tried to rise, but with her sitting on his waist he was pinned to the couch. "Quon Lee, what are you doing?"

"I fucking you, Judge Harry," she said, simply. "Mac fuck Christine, so I fuck you. Fair is fair." Already she was riding him, her tight, slick cunt sliding up and down his rock-hard pole.

"But, Quon Lee, I -- Mac fucking Christine? Really?"

"Really, Harry. I saw. In the courtroom."

"Christine? Are you sure?" But even as he asked, Harry was beginning to respond to her motion, bucking his hips up to piston his cock into her.

In reply, Quon Lee only speeded up her rhythm. Harry couldn't quite fill her like Mac, but she took advantage of his more convenient fit to show him a few tricks she couldn't do with her husband, slipping his rod from side to side within her.

Harry's hands lifted to her chest and rubbed her small breasts. A familiar electric thrill went through her.

"You like my tits?" she asked, mischievously.

Harry managed to answer in between groans. "Yes, yes, oh, God, Quon Lee!"

"You like to fuck me, I think," she said, grinding her cunt to the base of his cock. "I like to fuck you, Judge Harry. I like -- Oh! OH! OHHHHHHHH!"

A wild shiver turned her body to Jell-O and then returned, and again. It was an orgasm like never before, and when it was over she sank back down onto the judge's cock and let herself fall onto his chest, her breath coming in heaving gasps.

But in just a minute or two she felt his cock prodding her again. She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. She saw the lust there, and it stirred her own.

Slowly at first, savoring the pleasure of every inch, she took him in, let him out. Quon Lee rose again to a sitting position, feeling the fluids pour out of her and cover his crotch. Harry drove his cock up, again, again, again! What he lacked in size, she discovered to her delight, he more than made up for in stamina. Her pussy quivered and shook with his assault, and another orgasm left her breathless and unable to support herself.

Still Harry was rock-hard within her. Quon Lee slid off him and crawled onto her knees at the end of the couch, presenting her ass to him as she slathered the puckered brown hole with her own juices.

Harry entered her surely, sending his pole up her ass as his fingers sought out her sopping wet cunt.

"Damn, Quon Lee," he gasped, "it's even tighter than your cunt! Does it hurt?"

"No, Harry, no," she groaned. "Fuck it! Fuck me in the ass!"

He did, curling his long body over hers as he plunged into her asshole. At last he began to moan, louder and louder, and Quon Lee could feel him growing thicker, pushing her asshole to the limit.

And then a hot burst inside her as he bellowed out, and they collapsed onto the sweat-soaked cushions.

Quon Lee started when she heard the sound of applause. She looked up. Mac and Christine were standing just inside the door.

As she looked into her husband's eyes, she hated him no longer.

Last modified (12/24/96 14:11:44) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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