HumblePie
A Fair (& Impartial) Admin of Justice
Copyright (c) November 2010 by HumblePie

Note:  This story takes place in the Phantomville Universe
created by the author C.D.E; an author with a decade long
reputation as one of the most skillful and creative storytellers
in the genre.

You can find the collection located at: 
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/CDE


Keywords: M++/F, Cuck, Intr, Humor


          [TO BE READ BY ADULTS AT LEAST 18 YEARS OF AGE]

enjoy
----



          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 and 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... ummm, ahhh ..."

"Socializing?"

"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
naivete 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 Vitali Klitschko.  So those
options are gone.  Kaput!  Gone the way of the Cassette Recorder;
the three dollar six pack of beer and American Heavyweight
Champions.

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.org/files/Authors/CDE
  Where you will find the mother lode of great stories

Comments:  HumblePie@gawab (.com)

---
