Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 DANGEROUS WOMEN By Ezra Zane

   If you've been through Woodburn, you know where Route 82 curves over the
river coming into town and the road narrows from four to two lanes just
north of the bridge over Miller's Creek.  The two lanes continue until six
and three-tenths miles south of town when it divides into four lanes again.

   The two lane section, which is within the Town Limits, is a sedate
forty-five miles an hour.  Since the speed limit on the four lane is
seventy, some people have trouble complying with the lower speed.  We in
Woodburn didn't object when the American Automobile Association branded us
as a speed trap.  In fact, it was our idea.  Chasing the speeders wore out
squad cars and stretched the limits of our town police force, Chief Pat
Wilson and Officers Cletus and Boyd Wilson, who were related to Pat by
direct descent.

   I suggested to Triple A that they label us as a speed trap.  It helps us
uphold the law and, after all, the ultimate responsibility for upholding
the law falls to me, James Henry Madison.  I'm the judge.  And the mayor
and the postmaster.

   I even patrol the highway sometimes since I was once a police officer
myself.  I don't expect the town to supply me a squad car with its limited
budget, so I supply my own-a cherry red '95 Firebird with a 350 V8, four in
the four and all the speed enhancements the law allows.  All right, I'll
admit it.  It has some the law doesn't allow unless you're the law, which I
am.  I did let the city buy the red lights and siren, but I don't use them
much.  People in Woodburn know when I'm coming.  The Firebird has loud
pipes and rumbles with a nice, deep bass.

   I was coming back from Jefferson one bright Saturday afternoon. 
Jefferson's south of Woodburn forty-three miles, which is twenty minutes
for me and forty minutes for everyone else.  I wasn't in a good mood
because Hiram Abbot, the Jefferson sheriff, had whipped me in golf and
taken my money.  Golf's my second or third greatest passion, depending on
the weather.

   When I clicked on the police radio to let the Wilsons know the red
bullet headed their way was me, Clete came on the air.

   "Come in, Chief," Clete said.

   "Chief here.  What's up, Clete?"

   "There's a traffic jam on 82 at the bridge."

   "Huh?  Did you say traffic jam?

   "I sure did."

   "It can't be.  We've never had a traffic jam in Woodburn."

   "Dad, I mean, Chief, this is Boyd.  I'm south of the bridge off Main
Street.  I can see the problem.  It's a blue Mercedes doing five miles an
hour.  She's on the phone."

   Knowing someone was driving while talking on a cell phone made me almost
as mad as missing a four-foot putt on number seventeen and having to hear
Hiram snicker.

   "This is the Judge," I broke in.  "Stop her and go over the car with a
fine tooth comb.  Let's get every charge against her we can."

   "Don't we need some reason to stop her, Jimmy?" Boyd asked.

   "Does she have both hands on the wheel?"

   "No, she doesn't.  Should she?"

   "It's the law in this state," I replied pompously.

   "If you say so, Judge.  Okay.  I'll get her."

   Ten minutes later, I passed the scene of the crime.  Boyd had a blue
Mercedes pulled over.  Its driver was standing between her car and his car
pleading animatedly.

   I did notice she was a fine looking woman about thirty-five or so
wearing a white blouse, navy blue skirt, and low heels.  Her black hair was
wrapped smoothly on her head.  The skirt fitted nicely over what appeared
to be a well formed bottom.  Like I said, I'm a former police officer and
we're trained in observation.

   I was in my office about thirty minutes later when Maureen, our
dispatcher, jailer, secretary, office manager, town clerk, and head of the
parks department, called me on the intercom.  Some people might pronounce
her name "Mo'reen" or "Maw'reen." Some people might say "Mar'een." But she
pronounced it "Muh reen" with the accent on the second syllable.  She
corrected any one who called her otherwise.

   "Jimmy, we've got a prisoner situation out here.  You'd better come."

   My office door opens into the police room that serves all the basic
functions including holding cell, which in Woodburn means they're
handcuffed to the steel pipe in the corner.  It also served as Maureen's
office and she ran it with an iron hand.  Maureen lives in Jefferson and
worked for the former sheriff there.  She was fired when he caught her in
bed with his wife.  Maureen's big as a semi and twice as hard, but there's
something about her that turns on the ladies with a ladylike bent. 
Sometimes they didn't know they had that bent until Maureen bends them.

   As Boyd and Maureen looked at the paper work, I looked at the prisoner.

   Wisps of her black hair had worked free and hung around her face.  Her
blouse was twisted and its right tail hung outside her skirt.  The skirt
was askew, and pulled tightly over her thighs, which, on closer inspection,
were delightful.  Her calves were shapely and led to narrow ankles.  The
blouse billowed over her right breast and was tight over her left, which,
as the ads says, was round, firm and fully packed.

   When she realized I was standing there, she looked up.  She had
beautiful brown eyes, soft and slightly frightened.  She stood as
gracefully as one can stand when their hands are cuffed behind them.

   "Young man, I insist that I see the judge," she said with authority.

   "It's Saturday.  The judge might not be in," I replied.

   "But she said he was."

   "If he is, why would you want to see him?"

   "There's been a mistake, a horrible mistake made by this...  this
policeman (she made it sound like a dirty word).  I've got rights and I
insist on seeing the judge."

   "I'm the judge."

   "You deceived me."

   "No.  You presumed I wasn't the judge.  Why?"

   "You're...  well, there's no reason."

   "Boyd," I said, "What are the charges?"

   Boyd looked guilty as hell when he handed me the tickets.  There was a
stack of them.

   "Oh, my.  We've got a real criminal here," I said jocularly.

   "I'm no criminal.  I can't believe this, this...  person abused me."

   "Excuse me.  Are you charging us with police brutality?"

   "That's not what I meant.  I mean...  oh, damn it, I was just driving
through town..."

   "That's enough.  Has he told you what the charges are?"

   She gave him the evil eye and Boyd quivered like a wet puppy.  Boyd
could stare down a bear if the bear was male.  Any female made him tuck his
tail and run.  Fortunately, we didn't have many female criminals in
Woodburn.

   "I count twelve separate offenses here with fines totaling..." Boyd
said.

   "Two thousand five hundred seventy-two dollars and fifty cents,
including court costs," Maureen said, completing his sentence.

   The woman made a sick gasping sound and slumped back into the chair. 
Somehow her skirt twisted again and rode higher on her legs.  Her eyes
begged for mercy when she looked up at me.

   "Judge, may I talk to you in your chambers?"

   "Of course," I replied.  I took the handcuff keys from Boyd before
guiding her into my office.

   She sat on the edge of the straight chair as she continued to fight the
cuffs.  I would have taken them off her but I was enjoying the sight of her
clothes twisting around her.  There is something deliciously sexy about a
woman in handcuffs.  And something told me the lady was having more fun
than she was willing to admit.

   "Have you ever worn handcuffs before?" I asked.

   "I've never been arrested," she stammered.

   "That's not what I asked," I replied.

   She turned a bright red and shyly looked away.  Those beautiful brown
eyes weren't frightened now.  They were apprehensive with a touch of horny.
But my shit-eating grin pissed her off.

   "Can you take these damn things off me?"

   "Damn's a swear word and the fine for swearing in court is a hundred
dollars.  That makes..."

   "I don't care what it makes," she barked.

   "If you're throwing yourself on the mercy of the court, you're going
about it the wrong way," I said.

   "Oh, damn, damn, damn," she said as she stamped her feet and shook her
head in frustration.

   That did have some positive results from my point of view.  Another
outburst would let me see what color panties she wore.  I was betting on
pink.  More hair escaped and when the fit was over, she blew at it, trying
to get the wisp off her face.  She took a deep, deep breath, which was
another positive result, and loudly exhaled.

   "Look, my husband has plenty of money and I can pay the fines."

   "Do you want to call him?"

   She flushed.  "No.  I don't.  Not now anyway.  Judge, can I be honest?"

   "That would be nice."

   "I don't particularly want my husband to know about these tickets.  He
thinks I'm an inattentive driver."

   "Like when you're going five in a forty-five zone or like when you're on
the cell phone?"

   "Lots of people use cell phones and..."

   "Do lots of people have suspended licenses, no insurance..."

   "Don't get smart with me," she interrupted.

   Her eyes were blazing.  She was a fiery wench and she heated me up in
more ways than one.  I looked at her license to give me time to cool down.

   "It says here that you're Melissa Anderson Brown of Chesterville.  Is
that correct?"

   "Yes, it is, your honor." The last two words were an afterthought.

   "And it says you're forty-three.  That can't be right."

   "Why, yes, it is," she said with a ladylike blush.

   "I'd have guessed thirty-three, thirty-five max."

   "Thank you, but I'm far past thirty-five.  I have three children.  The
oldest is probably your age."

   "I'm twenty-nine," I replied.

   "Well, my oldest is twenty-five."

   I did some quick math.  Mrs.  Brown was pregnant was she was seventeen.
I wondered who the lucky guy was.

   The door opened and a red faced Boyd whispered, "Judge?  Can I see you?"

   I excused myself and joined him in Maureen's office.  In ninety seconds,
I was back.  When she saw my face, she looked terrified.

   "Well, things have changed.  It seems this is a drug bust."

   "What?  It can't be."

   I held up a baggie with four joints in it.

   "Boyd found these under the front seat, Mrs.  Brown," I said.

   She sagged against the seat back, but her eyes stayed on my face.  The
skirt inched up some more and I raised the bet with myself.

   "We'll need to search and book you before we talk anymore.  You
understand that a search is preliminary to being booked for the crimes. 
Then you can call your husband or your attorney."

   "I told you I don't want to call my husband and he is my attorney."

   "Mrs.  Brown, because drugs are involved, I'm going to have to jail you.
I'll set bail and when someone makes it, you're free to go.  Of course,
you'll have to be back here for your trial."

   "How much will the bail be?"

   "Five thousand dollars, but a bail-bondsman will charge you a tenth of
that if you have good credit."

   "Do you take credit cards?" she asked.  Before I could answer, she
continued, "Damn.  I can't do that.  Phil would know."

   "Phil?"

   "My husband."

   She was thinking and thinking hard.  As she thought, she stared at the
floor, but twice she glanced up at me.  I wasn't looking at the floor.  I
was looking at her, which was very easy on my eyes.

   I called Maureen on the intercom and told her to come in.  In three
seconds, she was standing in my office vibrating like a Peterbilt at a red
light.

   "Maureen, we need to search and book her."

   Maureen leered at Mrs.  Brown.  When Maureen licked her lips, Mrs. 
Brown quivered and slid further down the seat.  Damn.  Red panties.  I owed
myself a hundred dollars.

   "Judge, please," Mrs.  Brown whimpered.

   "The law requires search of a female suspect by a matron unless the
suspect waives her rights and agrees to search by an officer, or unless no
matron is present," I said.

   "If I agree to a search by an officer, who will that be?" the suspect
said.

   "Me," I replied.  I gave her a happy grin.

   Mrs.  Brown's eyes revealed, but only for an instant, thoughts she may
not want revealed, like this time when sexual acknowledgment and interest
flashed.  It looked like a neon sign to me.

   "I agree," she said.

   Maureen snorted and stomped out, making the floor tremble.  She was back
in a flash with the legal document allowing search by an officer, but
during that time, Mrs.  Brown's eyes met and held mine.  Hers twinkled with
sexual promise.  You'd have to ask her what mine did.

   "Stand up and turn around," I said to her.

   I undid one of the cuffs.

   "Aren't you going to remove the other one?" she asked.

   "I'll just have to put it back on after I search you.  I'm saving a step
this way," I replied.

   Those big brown eyes held mine again as she stretched, rubbed her
wrists, and straightened her clothes before sitting down and signing the
agreement.  Maureen stormed out again.

   Mrs.  Brown leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs.  She made no
effort to keep the skirt down, and those red panties under that navy skirt
looked like a red flag to a bull.  It was a blatant come-on, which
increased what was becoming a blatant hard-on.

   "I've never been a criminal before.  What's going to happen?"

   "First, the search.  Then the booking.  When you return for trial,
you'll be found innocent or guilty.  If you're guilty, punishment will be
set."

   "If I'm guilty, what punishment did you have in mind?"

   "The maximum is a year in the county jail.  We don't have a jail in this
county, so you'd be incarcerated in Chesterville."

   She shivered.  "Not Chesterville," she said.

   "I'm afraid so, but I wouldn't worry about it.  Jail's probably a year
away and then only if you're guilty."

   "I'm guilty," she said, shrugging her shoulders.  "They're my joints."

   Damn!  I hoped Boyd read her rights to her.

   "Maybe there's some way we can shortcut all this," she said.

   "Such as?"

   "We can go through the procedures.  I'll plead guilty.  You can punish
me and let me go home today."

   I need to tell you about the words "punish me." Not the words so much
but the way she said them.  She tilted her pelvis, arched her back, dropped
her head and looked up seductively, and was back in her original position
before the next word.

   "What are you saying, Mrs.  Brown?" I asked.

   "I'm sure you understand," she said.  She showed a little frustration.

   "I'm a country boy.  You need to spell it out for me."

   "I'm saying," she said slowly as if talking to an idiot, "that I want to
keep this all between you and me, without court documents and things like
that.  If we can, I'll accept any punishment you want to give me."

   She leaned forward.  I didn't remember the top two buttons of her blouse
being open, but they were.  I know I'd have remembered something like that.

   "And," she continued, "if the punishment involves sexual activities with
you, I agree to them, whatever they might be.  I might enjoy them as much
as you do." She leaned back and crossed her legs again.  Her foot flicked
back and forth.  "Was that clear enough?"

   My cock was throbbing.  "Clear as a bell," I replied.

   Her cat eyes held me spellbound as she stood and smoothed her skirt. 
She arched her back slightly as she said, "Now what?"

   "Lean and spread 'em."

   "What?"

   "You know, like on TV when the bad guys are caught.  Lean against the
wall and spread your legs."

   "How far?" she asked seductively.

   "Shoulder width," is what I said.  "With your knees by your ears" is
what I wanted to say.  She heard both.

   There's a mirror in my office on one wall.  It comes to waist height.  I
had her lean against it so I could watch her face.  Her eyebrow was cocked
and her lip curled in a smile as she put her palms flat against it.

   "I don't do many searches and this is my first drug bust, so this might
take awhile."

   "Why are you undoing my hair?"

   "It's a logical place to hide drugs."

   Her eyes were closed as she enjoyed my fingers running through her hair.
It was raven black with strands of grey proving raven was her natural
color. Her hair was thick and fell to her shoulders.

   "Do many criminals hide drugs along their spines?" she asked.

   "You never know," I answered as I pulled her blouse out of her skirt.

   She was watching me in the mirror as my hands slipped across the smooth
skin of her back to unclasp her bra.  I think a woman's back is an oft
overlooked and stunning erogenous zone.  With my thumbs on each side of her
spine and hands spread widely, I worked my way up her back.  She enjoyed it
as much as I did.  I cupped her breasts, gently squeezing, tantalizing with
my nails until her eyes dilated and her hips twitched.

   "Ohh," she gasped as I pinched her nipples.  "Find what you're looking
for?" she asked sardonically.

   "Precious jewels.  I found two diamonds."

   "And when do I get to see your family jewels?"

   "Oh, that comes later.  Put your legs together."

   I unbuttoned the skirt and pulled the zipper.  She wiggled to let me
slide it down over her hips.  She was smirking when I pulled down her
panties and pantyhose and helped her out of them.  She obviously worked
out. Those legs were hard and muscled and that was a really great ass.

   "Spread your legs again.  Wider this time."

   "This wide enough?" she asked.

   "That's fine.  Now be still.  I'm going to do a body cavity search."

   I was on her left.  I slipped the index finger of my right hand up her
pussy, which was dripping wet.  I jammed that index finger up her backside
and the left one up her frontside.

   "Oh, Jesus God," she stammered.

   "Be still.  I'm checking."

   "I can't be still," she groaned.

   Both fingers were busy searching for drugs.  I found a hard little
button I thought might be crack, but when I tugged, it was attached.  I
twisted it back and forth.

   "Yes, Judge, oh, yes."

   Hips rotated and thrust, sweat oozed, breath came in short pants, but I
didn't find any contraband.  I stood back to look at her.

   "Don't stop, you bastard," she whimpered.

   "Contempt of court.  That's another five hundred dollars, Mrs.  Brown."

   Her eyes were wild as she faced me.  "Let me tell you what contempt is,"
she snapped.  "If you don't handcuff me, push me down over your desk and
fuck me doggy style this instant, I'm going to slap the hell out of you."

   "My, my.  Threatening an officer of the court.  You're a dangerous
woman, Mrs.  Brown."

   "You don't know the half of it," she retorted.

   She crushed her body against mine and kissed me hard as her hips thrust
against me.  Her hand crushed my cock through my trousers as she stood
back.

   "Now, be a good little judgie and punish your prisoner," she said coyly.
"And you better not suffer from premature ejaculation," she snapped.

   I heard a click as she cuffed her hands behind her.  She flopped over
the desk nicely spread for my viewing enjoyment.

   Any police department knows that equipment is an important part of the
job.  In Woodburn, we don't have the budgets of the big city forces, but,
fortunately, the equipment needed for this particular assignment came with
the personnel at no additional cost.

   "Come on, Judge.  Do your duty," she said as she wiggled her hips.

   My equipment was at attention and ready for inspection.  I nudged the
head against her pussy and she squirmed back to get him in her.  Up and
down her crack I rubbed, covering my cock in her abundant flow.

   It was time for Mrs.  Brown to meet the short arm of the law.

   "Holy Jesus in heaven," she screamed.

   "Judge!  Do you want any help?" Maureen called though the door.

   "Go away," I yelled.

   "That's it.  Oh, God, yes.  Yes.  Harder.  Oh, God, I cummminnng," she
said.  Or words like that.  I wasn't concentrating on that part of what we
were doing.  I was concentrating on holding her hips so she wouldn't buck
me off.

   I believe in doing a through job, but the time comes to finish a
project. My time was coming quickly.  I pushed her to the floor and jammed
my cock against her lips.  The poor woman must've been starved because she
opened her mouth and greedily swallowed.  As the ads say, good to the last
drop.

   When I collapsed on the floor with a thunk, she squirmed over to suck my
cock as it softened.

   "Now what?" she whispered after we both caught our breath.

   "You're a magnificent fuck," I said, unfastening the handcuffs.

   "Thank you.  So are you."

   We staggered to our feet to redress.

   "I'm concerned for the safety of the people of Woodburn.  Turning a
dangerous woman loose on the streets may not be in the public interest," I
said.

   "Or in your pubic interest anyway," she retorted.  "What do you have in
mind?"

   "Incarceration."

   "In the Chesterville jail?"

   "I have some place more secure.  It could be used for hardened
criminals."

   "I didn't think I was the one that was hard," she answered with a smirk.
She stuffed her bra, pantyhose, and panties in her purse.  "Will you accept
a plea bargain?"

   "Of course."

   "How about different weekends over the course of a year?"

   "Starting when?"

   "If I can make a phone call to my sister, we can start now."

   I dialed the number for her.  It was the least I could do.  She made no
attempt to conceal her conversation, but I could only hear her voice.  I
really needed a speaker phone.

   "Hi, Cindy, it's me.  I'm not coming down there this weekend, but I need
you to cover for me...  Well, I'm sorry.  You'll just have to screw both of
them yourself...  Of course, I'm with a man.  He's twenty-nine with a great
smile and a cute ass...  Hold on, I'll ask him.  How big's your cock,
judge?"

   "What?"

   "Oh, come on.  Guys measure their equipment.  How big is it?"

   "Big enough," I said, blushing for the first time in years.

   "Oh, Cindy, we embarrassed him.  He's even cuter when he blushes... 
It's more than big enough to get the job done, Cindy.  I can vouch for
that...  Doggy style with my hands cuffed behind my back and over his
desk...  Maybe he'll let you try it...  He's worth a visit to Woodburn. 
Just as for the judge...  Okay, sis.  Bye for now."

   She hung up the phone, sat down in my chair, and put her feet on the
desk.

   "All right, Judge.  I'm your prisoner until Sunday afternoon."

   I took her to my house.  Since she admittedly enjoyed the handcuffs, we
tried out some of my more sophisticated personal equipment.  She couldn't
decide which she liked better, her wrists tied to the headboard and her
legs tied froggy-style or face down over the kitchen table with arms and
legs bound to the table legs, so we did each a couple of times.

   We didn't fuck for the whole twenty-four hours.  We actually talked,
ate, cuddled, and slept some of the time.  But we didn't wear any clothes
and we didn't leave my house except to fuck in the backyard by the hot tub.
She was gagged for that.  Sounds carry a long way in the country air.

   We burned the evidence of her drug crime on Saturday night.  I saw no
need to clutter up the evidence locker.

   Professor Tuggles, who taught me statistics in college, always said you
can't draw an accurate conclusion if the sample is too small.  I realized
Mrs.  Brown was a sample of one, but I'd never fucked a woman with her
particular parameters, so I'll have to risk making an inaccurate
conclusion, which is: Raven haired forty-three year old married women with
three children are sweating, squirming, moaning balls of fire with hair
trigger pussies who like to fuck all weekend.  If you find a woman with
those parameters and don't get those results, don't blame Professor
Tuggles. Or me.

   "I'll call you," she said as I stood by the blue Mercedes on Sunday
afternoon, "but it'll probably be a month or so.  I can only get away five
or six times a year."

   "Just don't call from your cell phone," I said with a grin.

   She lifted her head to be kissed, which I did.  "I had fun, Jimmy.  See
you soon," she said.

   I was asleep in ten minutes.

   *****

   Two Saturdays later, except for a case of persistent horniness, all was
well in my world.  The temperature was pleasantly warm, not hot, and the
humidity was almost perfect.  More importantly, I'd beat Hiram by seven
strokes and taken enough of his money to put me ahead for the year.

   I cruised back to Woodburn at a benign eighty miles an hour and the
Firebird purred like a kitten.  I was only a half mile from the point where
the four lanes neck down to two when a black blur screamed past me.  Any
other day, I would've turned on the whirling lights and given chase, but
today I let it go.  That's how good a day it was.

   When I arrived at the city building, a black Mustang was parked in the
place clearly marked as mine.  I blocked it in even though there were five
empty parking places.  It was the principle of the thing.

   No one noticed me come through the door.  When I saw Maureen, I
understood why she didn't hear me.  She was hypnotized.

   A woman with short curly black hair was leaning on Maureen's desk,
braced on her arms.  She was slowly weaving side to side.  My view was of
her back, which was bare except for a halter strap, and tiny shorts with
two lovely cheeks peeking out the bottom.  I tiptoed over to get a better
view.

   "Where is the judge, Maureen?" the woman said in a soft, mesmerizing
tone.

   Maureen's head was moving back and forth, following a magnificent set of
breasts that were covered as little as the law allows.

   "Uhhh," Maureen said.

   "He's right here," I said.

   The woman jumped.

   "Oh, shit," Maureen yelled as she stood at attention, knocking over her
desk chair in the process.  I'd never seen Maureen that flustered.

   "At ease, Maureen," I said, carefully pronouncing her name properly. 
"Who are you?" I asked the little vixen.

   She opened her purse and handed me her drivers' license.  It said
Cynthia Anderson Smith.

   "Melissa's sister?  That Cindy?" I asked.

   "That's right, Judge Jimmy," she said.

   There was a wild twinkle in her eye.  It might have been there for some
time.  Since I hadn't been looking that high, I couldn't be sure.

   "What can I do for you?" I said.

   "I'm handling this, Judge," Maureen interrupted.

   Cindy turned to Maureen and said, "Let's talk later, Maureen.  Right
now, I have business with the judge."

   Maureen snorted like a bull in mating season.  For a second, I was
afraid she was coming across the desk.  The reason I was afraid is I didn't
know if she'd grab Cindy or eliminate her competition.

   Cindy stepped toward me, jamming her breasts into my chest and thrusting
her crotch against mine, which was getting easier to do because something
in mine was rapidly growing.

   "I understand you took advantage of my sister," she said.

   Damn, but her eyes were alive and sexy.  "No, I didn't," I answered.

   "That's not what she says." She stepped back and pulled a gun from her
purse.  "I'm the dangerous woman in our family, Judge.  This is a hostage
situation.  Do as you're told."

   It was a water gun.  Maureen snickered and I laughed.

   "You think it's funny?" Cindy barked.  She pulled the trigger.

   I know officers who've been shot.  They say the first sensation isn't
pain.  It's the feeling of wetness and the smell of blood.  I was wet all
right, but the smell was cheap perfume.  I wondered if I'd need tomato
juice and vinegar to get the smell out like you did with a skunk.

   "Want me to shoot you again?"

   "Please don't.  I've only got two good shirts and you've almost ruined
this one."

   "Then do as you're told.  We're getting out of here.  Come on."

   She grabbed my elbow to propel me toward the door.

   "Judge, do you need help?" Maureen asked.  Her voice was pleading with
me.

   "If he does, big girl, I'll call you," Cindy replied.

   Cindy pushed me through the door and slammed it behind her.  I heard
Maureen bellow.

   "We're taking your car," Cindy commanded.

   Except for the smell emanating from my shirt, the ride to my house was
short and sweet.  She held the gun at my back as I unlocked the front door.

   "To the bedroom." she ordered.  That was all right with me.  The sooner
we got there, the better I'd like it.  "Now strip."

   I couldn't get out of my clothes fast enough because of the smell if
nothing else.  She went directly to the bottom right hand drawer in my
bureau, opened it, and retrieved what she wanted.  Obviously, she'd cased
the joint, or her sister told her where I stored the bondage stuff.

   "Nice cock.  Lissa was right about that," she said as if to herself.  To
me, she said, "Attach yourself to the headboard, Judge Jimmy." She threw
the restraints to me.

   This was the moment of decision.  Did I do as she told me or rush her
and try to wrestle the gun away?  Had it been a real gun, the decision
could mean life or death.  With her water gun filled with that horrible
perfume, the worst that could happen would be moving out of the house for a
week or so until the smell was gone.

   "It'll be more fun if you pretend it's a real gun," she smirked.

   My hands were trembling as I closed the Velcro straps around my wrists.
I attached myself to the corner posts.

   She tightened the arm restraints before looping a rope around my ankles
and tying them to the footboard.  I was stretched out in the middle of the
bed like the letter "Y," but with a vertical appendage that throbbed like a
boil.

   "Watch me, Jimmy," she said softly.

   One of the things I studied when I was a police officer was the ancient
and honorable art of strip tease.  Cindy only wore a skimpy halter top, but
it took her a good five minutes to take it off.  I was near tears as she
finally lowered a nipple to my mouth.

   "Please," I whimpered.

   Things got hazy and ran together, which is often the result of torture.
She tortured me.  I'll testify in court to that.

   She tortured me with her mouth and her breasts and hands and that
delicious body as she rubbed, licked, sucked, caressed, and tantalized me.
But the most evil part of her diabolical plan was that she didn't touch my
cock.  Well, except once, when she wrapped her lips around the head and
sucked until I felt the twinge of orgasm.

   "Not yet, Jimmy," she'd whispered maliciously as she squeezed the base
and stopped me from cuming.

   This was truly a dangerous woman.  That's not an excuse for what I did
and I'm not proud to admit it, but I broke.

   "For God's sake, Cindy, I can't take any more," I screamed.

   "Be quiet or I'll have to muffle you," she said as she perched on my
chest looking down at me.

   "The word's muzzle-and let me cum, you crazy bitch!"

   "It's muffle, which is a word meaning to gag with a muff.  Like this."

   She covered my mouth with her pussy.  It was difficult for me to talk
that way, but I'd learned a new word, if nothing else.

   "Eat me, Jimmy.  If you do a good job, I might let you cum," she said.

   I did more than a good job.  I did a wonderful, magnificent job, which
is often the case when you do something you love.  And she agreed.

   "Oh, Jesus, Jimmy, you're one pussy eating man," she murmured as she lay
gasping on me after her second orgasm.

   Don't you think that was particularly cruel?  I mean she had two orgasms
and I hadn't had any.  She stroked my hair as she kissed my lips.

   "You don't mind if I suck your cock, do you?" she asked.

   "No." It was a squeak, but, as I said, I was broken and didn't sound
like myself.

   She splayed on me with her pussy in my face and her breasts soft against
my stomach.  One fingernail scraped down my shaft and my cock jumped.  Her
hand grasped the shaft as her lips closed over the head and I whimpered. 
Her hand pumped as her mouth sucked and I screamed as I ejaculated the
largest load I can remember.  That scream might have brought people from
all over Woodburn, except I was muffled.  I like that word almost as much
as I like being muffled.

   Squirming and stretching, she undid the ropes on my ankles and the
Velcro on my wrists without letting my cock slip from her mouth.  I was
dazed, but my cock wasn't.  It was hard again.

   She lay back, attached one of her wrists to the bed, and said, "My turn
to be tied up."

   I bound her other wrist, but I didn't tie her legs.  I trapped them
under my arms as I jammed into her.

   "Oh, Jimmy, that feels so good.  Fuck me.  That's it.  Come on.  Harder.
What are you doing?  Don't pull out.  Come back here, you bastard.  Jimmy!"

   I could hear her thrashing around trying to get loose as I made a
bourbon and water in the kitchen.  Cindy did have a sailor's vocabulary,
which she released when I appeared in the bedroom again.

   "My, my," I said.  "You don't look so dangerous now."

   "When I get loose, I'm going to whip your ass," she barked.

   "I don't know.  I'm into bondage, but not discipline."

   "Come on, Jimmy," she pleaded, trying a new tack.  "Fuck me, please.  I
was good to you, wasn't I?  You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

   "Yes, I did, and that's a fact."

   "Please, Jimmy.  I need it."

   "You need to cool off," I said.

   I ran an ice cube from my drink down between her breasts.  She squealed.
When I touched her clit with it, she moaned and tried to snap her legs
together.  She kicked at me when I stopped her so I bound her legs heel to
thigh while she screamed.

   About five minutes later, as I lay between her bound legs licking juices
pouring from her pussy, her barks and commands became incomprehensible
mumblings.

   "Yes, yes," I think she said when I stuck my cock in her again.

   Did you ever fuck a woman when you didn't want to come?  Well, not
immediately anyway.  That's the way I was with Cindy.  Of course, I'd just
had an unbelievable orgasm and there may not've been anything to shoot, but
the point is I wanted to enjoy her under me.  Her body squirming.  Her face
contorting.  Her urgent whispered pleas.

   Having her legs bound kept her from the big "O" but a lot of little
"o's" drove her mad.  My bed was soaked with her sweat and enough pussy
juice to fill a quart bottle before I yanked the slip knots and let her
legs free.

   She drove her heels into the mattress, lifted me into the air with her
pelvis, and screamed like a banshee in heat when the big one hit.

   An hour later, I washed her face with a wet cloth.  I was getting
worried about her.  She hadn't moved.  I could see the headlines: Judge
Jailed.  Fucks woman to death.

   Her eyes fluttered open.  "Do you want to fuck again?" she asked.

   "No.  I'm fucked out."

   "Good.  I'm exhausted," she replied.

   She nestled against my leg and went back to sleep.  I looked at her for
a long time.  God, she was beautiful.  I lay down beside her and pulled the
covers over us.

   As I learned on Sunday over a hot plate of eggs and ham at IHOP, Cindy
Smith was Melissa's half sister.  She was thirty-two and the product of
their father's second marriage.  She liked a lot of things I did apart from
the sex, which we'd already proven was our favorite subject.  And, glory
be, she was divorced.

   We spent the rest of the day in bed.  When she wasn't horny, she wasn't
dangerous at all.  She was the most delightful woman I'd ever met.

   Late Sunday, she was naked on my bed when a sad expression crossed her
face.

   "What's wrong?" I asked.

   "I need to go, but I don't want this to end."

   "I can't let you go.  You've kidnapped a judge.  That's a felony in this
state and you could get twenty years to life."

   "Is that a jail sentence or a marriage proposal?" she asked.  She was
smiling, but her eyes were serious.

   "I'm not sure," I replied.

   "Why don't you think about it?  I know I will."

   We made love slowly and gently before she dressed and left me there
alone.

   Maureen was quiet on Monday morning.  She came into my office about ten
and thudded down in the chair.

   "Cindy called me last night," she said.  "She wanted to talk about you."

   "Oh?  What did she say?"

   "She asked the questions you'd expect from a woman who met a man who
took her breath away."

   "What did you tell her?"

   "That you'd be hard to tie down, but, once you were, you'd make a great
husband."

   "Thanks, Maureen."

   "Well, you win a few and you lose a few.  Looks like you won this one,
Jimmy."

   Melissa called Tuesday.

   "Hi, Jimmy.  I understand you had a great weekend."

   "Magnificent."

   "I've got three more sisters.  Do you want me to tell them about you?"
she said with a laugh.

   "Is this a test?"

   "Sort of."

   "Don't test me.  I'm confused enough as it is."

   "Something happened, Jimmy.  I've never heard Cindy like this, not even
with her ex-husband.  She told me if I came back to Woodburn before she
says I can, she'll scratch my eyes out.  Sounds like the love bug bit her
badly."

   I knew how she felt.

   I didn't hear from Cindy or Melissa the rest of the week.  On Friday
morning, I told Hiram I didn't want to play golf on Saturday, which was the
first Saturday I'd miss in a long time.  I called Cindy, but got her
answering machine.  The message said she'd be gone until Monday.

   I went home for lunch Friday, ate a bologna sandwich by myself, and
moped.  When I got back to the office, there was a black mustang parked in
front.  My heart lightened and my step quickened as I bounded into
Maureen's office.  She grinned and waved her thumb toward my door.

   Cindy was sitting behind my desk looking out the window.  She wore an
egg shell colored blouse and navy slacks.  She blushed and stood up when
she saw me.

   "Hi.  I've been thinking about you," I said.

   "I've thought of nothing but you," she replied.

   "I'm glad you're here."

   "I had to come back.  I was afraid there was a kidnapping warrant out
for my arrest," she said as her eyes twinkled softly.

   "I'm still thinking about your sentence."

   "Me, too, but I decided I can think better here than I could at home."
That wild, crazy, sexy gleam came into her eyes.  "I do some of my best
thinking on my back," she purred.

   "I know just the place to think," I said, holding out my hand.

   When she took my hand, a flash of electricity went through me and when
we kissed, someone turned up the voltage.  I led her out of my office and
through the police room.

   Maureen sighed wistfully when we walked out the door.

   The End