In Phantomville it is incumbent upon a man to own up to his
civic responsibility or face your day in court.
This work is
copyrighted to the author © 2019. Please do not remove the author
information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved.
---
WARNING: This
story delves into aberrant sex practices. Some of the sex
is consensual, some not. I don't condone it. I'm not advocating
it. I may or may not even like it. It's simply a fantasy, a product
of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.
Before you read it,
please note the following:
* If you are under eighteen, do not read this story!
* If you have a hard time separating fantasy
from reality, do not read this story!
* If it's illegal in your jurisdiction to read nonconsensual sex stories, don't
read this story!
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===================================================================================================
A Fair and
Impartial Administration of Justice
by
HumblePie aka Hunsi
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 curl 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
"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.
"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.
"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."
"Yes,
well, 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.
"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 dive right into that succulent prime
"A" rump-roast."
"It
sounds quite gratifying, Officer Washington."
"Let
me tell'yah," 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 posse? You mean your friends,
right?"
"Yes, sir. That's them sittin' there in the front row. Ozone, Abdul, Fumbe, Kwame, Ozi,
"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
"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."
"Oh yeah, since High School,
her Ma too.
They're a hospital family. I mean, 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've known her."
"You
mean, nothing has changed other than the fact that she
married Mr. Fagnano last week, correct, Mr.
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 length
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. XXXXThe
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.XXXXXXXXXXX
"Good,
now please continue, Mr.
"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 he likes the
stuff."
"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 clarify 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.
"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 cold-cocked him."
"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.
"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 room 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 a 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.
"M-M-Mrs. Fa-Fa-Fa
. . . Oh hell! Madam, do you suppose you and I can come to an
agreement?"
"I
suppose so, Mr.
"I'd
like 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, only now with a scowl. The looks of
which put the prosecutor on notice to try again.
"Dick,
Dick," he mumbled to himself. "Perhaps that wasn't such a wise
choice after all."
"Aaah, pardon, madam, but perhaps the name 'Dick' might not
be the right choice given the unusual 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
it is . . . ?"
"Les,"
she replied.
"Les?"
he asked. "Dick Les? 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.
"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.
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 proceed, Mr.
"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:"
"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, you are a young man of many talents. You are a loyal and trustworthy
employee who has his employer's complete trust and confident. 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.
Speaking
of which I know how much you enjoy licking up all that gummy, gamy, gooey sloop
your sweetheart, Miss Trixie Ambrosia, brings home
for you each day.
I
mean, if you've told me once, you've told me a hundred times, you not only find
it tasteful and delicious, but that you're not at all offended by the heady
rank 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 if your little wee-wee doesn't quite reach 4
inches. 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 build rapport with those manly men who are
better than you. Learn how to pay homage to them to win their trust and
their confidence."
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 I 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 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 dipshit 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's about the width of your thumb, Mr.
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 enflamed and swollen and overflowing down there. A
girl would have needed a fire hose to clean all that out, or, if she should be
so lucky, just my darling sweet boy. And the best part of all - He liked
it! He thought it was all me, and quite frankly, couldn't get enough.
Of
course later, after I'd met his mother, a lot of that innocent naiveté was
explained away. She'd told me that because of his 'condition,' she
refused to allow him to date. Thus he had no experience with women at
all. Instead, she kept him home tied to her apron.
Not
that she had to be too strong headed about it as I doubt he would have had much
luck in the dating pool regardless. Besides, who's to argue with his
mother? She did turned out one dandy little housekeeper after all. He
knows how to cook, Italian, and he can sew. He even wore an apron about
the house he had made himself.
In
short, it made for a pretty exciting package, and I couldn't wait to come over
to visit each night. Where his mother and I would sit in the family room
and talk and become familiar with one another while her 'Les-lie' finished
preparation of the evening meal.
I
can assure you that the lady was never at a loss for words. I found her
enjoyable to talk to and found that we shared many things in common. She
also had a keen interest in me and would often talk ad infinitem
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'l
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 public 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
persisted after whirling it about in the 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
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
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 Worth Heavyweight Champion, Vitali Klitschko. So those options are gone.
Kaput! Gone the way of the Cassette Recorder, the three
dollar six pack of beer and the great American Heavyweight Champions of
yesteryear.
Nonetheless,
not all is lost. Not if he's willing to open himself up to the
possibilities that like we women, and the other peacemakers of this world, he
too can learn to manage conflict and peacefully resolve issues when confronted
by better, more superior men.
And
the great thing is, he can do so using the skill-set
he already owns - his unassuming nature and his compliant disposition.
That's what separates him from the herd, and that's the key to winning a man's
heart, love and affection, rather than getting the shit beaten out of you.
Simply
put, only the bravest of men know that it's far better to just give in and
surrender, kiss and make up, than it is to waste time and energy crying and
pouting and throwing a hissy-fit. Smarter too,
especial when you're a little guy like him, when 'holding out' only increases
his feeling of inferiority.
I
say, build on what you've got. Employ the bonding skills we women use to
develop rapport and to please our man. Like humility, resignation and
knowing how to pay homage when Johnny Humongous comes knocking at your back
door.
That
can only bring success. And success equals reward. No more feelings
of inferiority. No more tears over how insignificant he is in comparison
to a real man.
Of
course I'm sure there will be obstacles that may take some time to
overcome. Like hearing names like faggot, sissy, cocksucker or
penis-breath, bantered about. You know names can be hurtful if you don't
understand that they are not always meant as derogatory. On the contrary,
more often than not they are meant as terms of endearment.
I
mean, what man would even bother to waste his breath if he didn't care. To me
that's a good sign. It shows that you've not only won his trust and
respect, but that he likes you too. The same holds true when asked to
bend over and spread your cheeks. What better expression of a man's
feeling than to want to stick it clear up to your eyeballs in one mighty
thrust, just as he would his own bride. Quite
the compliment, I'd say.
But
I feel certain he'll overcome that too. Not just because he loves me and
doesn't want to lose me, but because he has all the attributes needed to make a
splendid sissy whore.
Besides,
it's his responsibility to do so under our current law, and the last thing he
wants is to become a lawbreaker. Personally, I feel pretty darnn 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.
Again,
a scattering of laughter erupts among those in attendance.
"Well
I . . . ah, suppose so, madam."
"Yes,
well, his mother also agrees. A woman who has my
complete admiration 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. A person eager to acquiesce and
find alternative ways 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 toanyone,
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'll only because he's
already busy consuming mass quantities of that gamy, gooey, oozing
frothy from some guy's dick."
--
So
ends her longwinded 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.
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 day,
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," stammers
Mrs. Fagnano. She is down on all fours, while Ozi
is 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. Fagnana
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?
Acknowledgements:
Wife Protection Ordinance courtesy of C.D.E.
http://
(w w w.asstr.org/files/Authors/CDE)
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