Author: Homer Vargas
Title: Cromwell's Court Case
Universe: 
Summary: Cromwell avoids a sexual harassment suit and 
so much more.
Keywords: MC, Mdom, preg, humor
Redistribution: No restriction except that the story 
may not be changed/edited and the title, author's name 
and email, and request for feedback must remain intact.

First Posted 12/18/01
Last Edited 9/29/05



CROMWELL'S COURT CASE (MC, Mdom, preg, humor)
by Homer Vargas
vargas111@yahoo.com

Everyone knows by now that Downing Street is my 
favorite writer. His way of telling how uptight women 
gradually are transformed into tarty sluts is without 
peer. But is it "conceivable" that he is telling the 
"full" story? The "expanded" consequences of these 
changes "bear" further examination.

*****
I 
*****

"This is the best deal you have any reason to expect, 
Cromwell," the woman said coldly; "I suggest you take 
it."

Cromwell looked back at the slender blonde in the 
masculine black suit, barely noticing the sheaf of 
papers in her hand. He felt utterly defeated. Even his 
own lawyer thought he was scum. "Penelope, can't we 
fight this?"

If anything, the lawyer's voice became even colder. 
"First of all, my name is 'Ms. Parnell,' not 
'Penelope.' Second, your former employee has a case 
against you on which the court will convict. Especially 
with one of the best legal firms in the city behind 
her. Take the plea bargain. And try to remember this 
the next time you feel like assaulting your secretary." 
She tossed the papers in front of him and sat down 
behind her polished desk.

Cromwell sat there, feeling numb. He stared past her 
for a moment, out the second-storey window. The trees 
lining the street were brilliant in the early autumn 
sunshine, indifferent to the morass his life had fallen 
into.

"Penelope," he tried again, "I mean Ms. Parnell. It, it 
wasn't like that. I didn't mean anything. Hell, I was 
drunk; it was a party; everybody was fooling around, 
having a good time. I just got a little carried away. 
She led me on."

"She has videotape," the blonde lawyer snapped back, 
"and multiple witnesses. Her case is airtight."

"But, but those witnesses are all her friends. Of 
course they'll corroborate her story; the judge will 
see that."

"The judge will also hear testimony from each witness 
that you made persistent and inappropriate advances to 
all of them too, won't he." Her blue eyes flashed.

Cromwell hung his head. How could this be happening? 
Two weeks ago he had gotten a little loose at a company 
party, nothing that hadn't happened a dozen times 
before. Now that little minx of a secretary, barely 20 
years old, was dragging him through the mud and making 
his life hell. He shook his head. The damndest thing 
was that the girl had the most awesome legs. 
Irrelevant, but still true.

At last he said, "I need some time to think about 
this."

Ms. Parnell said, "Don't take too long about it. The 
trial gets underway day after tomorrow. The deal drops 
the criminal charges if you settle for the full amount 
in the civil suit. That option won't be available once 
the case is in session. I'd like to get this off my 
desk."

For a moment Cromwell rebelled. He was being shuffled 
aside like so much paperwork! "You're supposed to be MY 
lawyer!" he charged.

The blue-eyed blonde was unmoved. "Not my idea, 
Cromwell. I'm only on this case at all because Mr. 
Ferguson doesn't want to touch it. I can see why. I 
have other cases to deal with, real people with real 
problems; I haven't got time to waste on a middle-aged 
cad who treats his employees as playmates for his 
sexual gratification."

For a long moment they glared at each other. Her hair 
was tied up in a businesslike bun on the back of her 
head, hiding its true length. Her high cheeks, flushed 
with anger, were surprisingly pretty. She was young, 
not even a junior partner yet. She had been assigned to 
his case when Ferguson, his friend and confidant for 
years, had suddenly become "too busy" for him.

Cromwell rose and snatched the papers off her desk. 
"I'll look at these," he said, knowing he was conceding 
defeat.

Ms. Parnell did not get up. "Be in my office with the 
papers signed at 9:30 tomorrow. I need time to talk to 
the judge."

He let himself out.

*****

Fifteen minutes later Cromwell was seated in his 
favorite chair at his regular club, nursing his wounds 
with a strong drink. It wasn't his fault, he told 
himself for the one thousandth time. It was all a set-
up.

Things hadn't been going well at home. His wife was 
incredibly sexy, but had lost interest in sex; maybe 
she'd never really had any. He loved her, but, rebuffed 
each night and morning, he went to work each morning 
horny and frustrated, which combined with his driven 
personality to make him short-tempered and sullen. More 
and more he found himself noticing all the attractive 
young women in the office.

Then one day Tawny had waltzed into his office, pert, 
cheerful and gorgeous. She announced, as if she had 
just won a school prize, that Human Resources had made 
her his new secretary. Cromwell had been stung. She was 
perfect. She was beautiful. She came to work each 
morning in yet another foxy miniskirt, apparently 
unaware of Cromwell's weakness for legs on high heels, 
unlike his wife who WAS aware and refused to wear them. 
She seemed so innocent. . .

He sipped his Scotch, staring at the floor.

"Quite a jolly mess, isn't it?" said the man beside 
him.

Cromwell looked up. "Excuse me?"

The man put down the newspaper that had hidden him so 
effectively. He was thin and bespectacled. "This mire 
you've gotten yourself into, Mr. Cromwell. This awful 
legal proceeding."

"Excuse me," Cromwell said again, "Do I know you? I 
don't think I remember--"

The man interrupted him smoothly. "Just look at your 
situation. You're facing both a private suit and a 
criminal prosecution. Your adversary is a twenty-year-
old secretary the judge will love. I understand you've 
drawn Judge Martha Harris; a competent jurist, but 
something of a crusader on harassment issues. The case 
against you is formidable, even though there is no 
convincing evidence of impropriety on your part, aside 
from inebriation. If you decide to fight it, the best 
you can hope for is a conditional discharge and a 
criminal record. Or you can accept the sleazy deal 
they're offering and pay a six-figure sum for having 
too much to drink at a party."

"What --," blustered Cromwell, "Who are you? How do you 
know all --"

"Have you considered the, ah, social implications of 
your predicament?" the man asked, ignoring Cromwell's 
questions. "How much respect will you retain at work 
once your whole staff sees you convicted as a lecher? 
What will be your chances at that vice-presidency you 
have worked toward for so long? You will probably have 
great difficulty even finding a new secretary. Not to 
mention the effect on business when word of this gets 
out to your customers. Most important of all: how long 
do you think you can hide this little adventure from 
your wife?"

"You leave my wife out of this!" Cromwell stormed, 
fighting to keep his voice down. Then, after a moment: 
"She will ... understand."

The thin man regarded Cromwell patiently through his 
dark-framed glasses. "Certainly she will ... 
understand. She will understand that you have handed 
her powerful new ammunition with which to belittle and 
intimidate you any time she wants something. She will 
understand how to exact a steep and continuing price 
for her forgiveness; she will understand how to use 
this incident to get her own way for years to come. 
Your chance of getting her to make any little Cromwells 
will be zero. She'll never have to fuck you again."

Cromwell felt his face flush with anger. He started to 
say something, but the other man raised a hand, cutting 
him off. "Please, Mr. Cromwell, be honest with 
yourself. Your wife is a self-centered, manipulative 
bitch. She married you for money and prestige. I 
suspect you were so bedazzled by her looks that you 
didn't see her true nature. I can't say I blame you: 
fabulous tits and fucked like a banshee before you 
married her, didn't she?" He spoke in the same tones a 
man might used while discussing England's chances in 
the World Cup.

Cromwell leaned toward him, his face a thundercloud. 
"Now look here, whoever you are, I --"

"Mr. Cromwell," the man interrupted, "when was the last 
time your wife allowed you to made love?"

Cromwell said nothing for a long moment. He looked 
away. Finally, in a low voice, he asked: "How do you 
know all this?"

"We do our homework," the man replied. "Thorough 
background research is the key to ensuring our clients 
are satisfied."

"What? Clients?"

The man reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a 
plain white business card. He handed it to Cromwell. "I 
represent a company that specializes in situations like 
yours," he explained. "I believe we can help you."

Cromwell said: "I already have a lawyer."

"Ah yes, MS Parnell," the man responded, buzzing the 
title ironically as if they were discussing golf. He 
folded his hands like a steeple. "Your lawyer is part 
of your problem. She is an ambitious, if sexy little 
sourpuss who only wants to put this whole matter behind 
her. You need a more permanent solution."

Cromwell studied the man sitting next to him. He was 
tall and proper. Dressed in a conservative grey suit 
and tasteful silk tie, he could have been an investment 
banker or a professor of economics. He spoke with a 
crisp, slightly British accent.

"Permanent solution? What are you talking about?" 
Cromwell asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

"I mean, quite simply, that we can make this whole ugly 
situation go away," the man said evenly. "Disappear. 
Vanish. Cease to be a vexation to your spirit."

"You can win my court case?"

"We can do better than that. We can have all the 
charges withdrawn, with an apology. We can make the 
parties involved regret that they ever displeased you 
and sincerely want to make you happy. We can do away 
with all these petty annoyances that are preventing you 
from enjoying life as it ought to be enjoyed. In short, 
Mr. Cromwell, we can FIX things."

"But, but -- I still don't understand. How do you 
propose to do this?"

The man flexed his fingers for a moment. "I'd rather 
not go into the methods themselves. In any case it's 
rather technical. When you have decided to go ahead, 
just call the number on that card. They will take care 
of fee transfers and scheduling. I urge you to call 
soon, today if possible. We don't have a great deal of 
lead time."

Cromwell was staring at him, nonplussed. Was he really 
having this conversation? "How-- how much?" he found 
himself saying. The man beside him named a figure that 
made Cromwell's eyes go round. "It's entirely 
reasonable," he explained, "when you consider what you 
receive in return. Besides, it's considerably less than 
you would pay in legal fees and penalties, assuming the 
suit against you is successful."

Cromwell stopped to consider. The man had a point; the 
court case was bound to cost him dearly. And if they 
could do what he said they could do....

His companion got to his feet, folding the newspaper 
neatly beneath his arm. "Do give us a call this 
afternoon if you can. You won't regret it. Good day, 
Mr. Cromwell." He walked away briskly.

Cromwell stayed behind. He looked at the business card 
in his hand. It was entirely blank but for a telephone 
number, printed exactly in the middle. Cromwell 
couldn't decide if that was the strangest thing, or 
whether it was the fact that the man beside him had 
been reading the Times of India.

*****

Two hours later, Cromwell was sitting in his office, 
still staring at the business card. The chill in the 
office when he came in had been palpable. Friends and 
colleagues avoided him. People whispered behind his 
back. His outer office was empty. Tawny had been 
transferred, at her request. Human Resources had 
decided it would be best if Cromwell got by without a 
secretary, for the time being. He picked up the 
telephone and dialed the number.

"Hello! Thank you for calling," said a sexy female 
voice.

"Uh. Hello. Uh, yes. My name is Cromwell, I--"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Cromwell!" The voice sounded delighted. 
"Have you decided to go ahead with the procedure?"

"Well, I, I guess, I mean, I think -- Listen, I'd like 
to know a little more about it."

"Oh, don't worry about the details. Trust me, you'll 
love our work. Did our representative talk to you about 
the fee?"

"Yes. Yes, he did. Shouldn't I meet with your people to 
discuss my case?"

"No need for that. We have all the information we need 
in our files. We can begin as soon as the funds are 
transferred."

"But, but, I still don't understand --"

"Mr. Cromwell," the voice said pointedly, "we offer a 
full money-back guarantee. None of our clients has 
*ever* asked for a refund."

There was silence for a long moment. Eventually 
Cromwell said: "How do I pay the fee?"

"Make an electronic transfer to this account." She 
named an account number of a bank in the Cayman 
Islands. "You've made the right decision, Mr. Cromwell. 
We'll get right to work. Oh, one more thing. Did you 
write that account number down on a piece of paper?"

"Yes."

"When you're through, throw it away, won't you? Bye 
now."

Cromwell hung up the telephone. He turned to his 
computer and transferred a large sum of money to an 
offshore account. He took the sheet of paper with the 
bank and account number written on it and dropped it 
through the paper shredder. Then he went home.

Cromwell's wife was not home when he arrived. There was 
nothing unusual about that. Shana was usually out, 
ostensibly shopping, or running him down with one of 
her rich friends, or playing tennis, or participating 
in any of the innumerable events that constituted the 
social whirl in which she lived. In fact Cromwell 
suspected she was having her gears oiled regularly by 
some stud at her gym.

Cromwell didn't mind. He was grateful for the free 
time. He still hadn't told Shana about the court case. 
He was not looking forward to the fireworks.

Shana did not come home for dinner. When she hadn't 
returned by late evening, Cromwell began to worry. It 
wasn't like Shana to go so long without calling. He 
stayed up late, nursing a drink. When Shana still 
hadn't returned by midnight, he decided he might as 
well go to bed.

He was awakened in the night by the sound of movement. 
He turned on the bedside lamp. Shana was there, 
changing into her nightgown. She looked haggard.

"Shana!" Cromwell cried. "At last. Where have you 
been?"

His wife looked at him wanly. "Honey, I'm really 
tired." She clambered into bed beside him and closed 
her eyes. She actually seemed to snuggle close.

Cromwell stared at her incredulously. "Shana, it's --" 
he glanced at the bedside clock -- "it's 3 a.m.! Where 
have you been?"

"mm not sure," she mumbled, without opening her eyes. 
"Thin' I wzz 'ducted. These two men. . . put me 'n 
van."

"WHAT!" He sprang up in bed. "What? I mean, how? Who? 
Did they hurt you? Are you all right? Shana?"

His wife was breathing regularly, fast asleep.

After a moment Cromwell turned off the lamp. He stared 
into the darkness, perplexed. This had been one strange 
day. He lay down and his wife schoonched against him. 
He felt her tits on his chest for the first time in 
years.

*****

Cromwell was having a dream. It was a pleasant, erotic 
dream. It had something to do with a beautiful 
secretary seducing him. His eyes fluttered open. Early 
morning sunlight poured through the bedroom windows. 
His bed covers had been pulled back. His wife was 
astride him, on her knees, slowly and lovingly lowering 
herself onto his cock.

"Wha?" said Cromwell.

Shana raised her glistening cunt lips from his member 
for just a moment. "Good morning honey," she cooed, 
looking at with enraptured devotion. "Did you sleep 
well?"

Evidently it was a rhetorical question, because she 
immediately lowered herself and her pussy drew him back 
in. Cromwell groaned. Through the intensely pleasurable 
sensations that Shana was producing, his mind 
registered astonishment. In the nearly seven years that 
they had been married, Shana had ridden him exactly 
twice, both times with ill grace and only when he had 
made it a condition for granting some especially 
extravagant indulgence. Now she was spontaneously 
giving him the best cowgirl fuck he'd ever experienced. 
Shana did something with her cunt muscles and Cromwell 
twitched.

There was something else odd too. As he watched his 
wife's pussy slide eagerly up and down his tool, 
Cromwell realized Shana was already wearing her make-
up. Earrings too. The big gold ones he had bought her 
but she had never worn, flashed and flew about as she 
bounced. She was dressed in a red, strapless teddy, a 
Valentine's or Anniversary gift from years ago but 
which until now Shana had refused to put it on. 
"Whorish," she had judged. The cups thrust her half-
covered chest up and out, highlighting her spectacular 
tits. Her legs were clad in shiny stockings with 
ribbons and bows on the garters. Her gaudiest high-
heeled red pumps were on her feet.

How early had she gotten up to prepare for this? And 
whatever for? Cromwell tried to ask a question, but 
Shana bent down and put her tongue in his mouth. 
Nothing came out but a squeaky gasp. Then she began to 
fuck him hard, long hair flying on each downstroke. She 
brought Cromwell to the brink in moments. Groaning, he 
reached behind him with both hands and clasped the 
headboard. A moment later she had impaled herself on 
him hard. His back arched upward and he erupted like a 
geyser into her dripping cunt.

The relief was exquisite. Shana stayed with him, riding 
hungrily until at last he subsided into sighs and 
twitches. She licked him clean when she reluctantly let 
his softening shaft slip out of her pussy. "There," she 
said with satisfaction, "isn't that a nice way to start 
the day?"

Without giving her astonished husband a chance to 
answer, she slid gracefully to her feet. "Don't hurry 
about getting up, honey," she said. "I'll get your 
breakfast while you shower, 'K?" She slipped on a long, 
transparent robe, and without pausing to do it up, 
sauntered out of the room, unconcerned that a thick 
glob of semen was sliding down her leg.

Cromwell lay there for a long time, catching his 
breath. What on earth had gotten into Shana? She only 
LET him fuck her when she wanted something; she never 
took the initiative, never seemed to enjoy it, never 
NEEDED it. Sex was just her most effective means of 
manipulating him. He went to the bathroom for his 
shower. Shana had laid out clean towels.

When Cromwell walked into the kitchen a little while 
later, straightening his necktie, he received another 
shock. Food was sizzling on the stove, filling the room 
with delicious smells. Shana was sashaying about the 
kitchen, humming to herself. She seemed perfectly at 
home in her high heels.

Shana cooking? For a moment Cromwell didn't know what 
to think. If someone had asked him, what is the one 
thing your wife is less likely to do than wake you up 
with an early morning fuck, Cromwell would have 
answered: cook breakfast for him. "Uh, Shana?" he said 
uncertainly.

His wife turned to him, beaming. "Hi honey! Come and 
sit down, breakfast is almost ready." She gestured to 
the kitchen table, where an elaborate setting was 
waiting for him.

"But, but, wait a minute. Last night, you were out, 
late; you said you had been abducted."

She gave him an amused look. "Abducted? Don't be silly. 
Yesterday I went out shopping with Nichole, and then. . 
. . Well, I don't remember. Come on, sit. Don't let the 
toast get cold."

Cromwell sat. Breakfast was excellent. He sipped his 
coffee, watching his wife totter about the kitchen with 
a wary eye. The outfit she was wearing clearly reminded 
him of how she had gotten him to marry her in the first 
place. Below the rich cascades of cinnamon brown hair 
her figure was perfect: smooth, curved and sensuous, 
leading downward to the flawlessly tapering legs that 
seemed to go on forever. Despite what Shana had already 
done for him that morning, Cromwell felt his cock stir.

Eventually, however, he had to face reality. "Shana," 
he said, "come here and sit down for a moment. We have 
to talk."

"Of course, darling," Shana chirped. She approached the 
table, but instead of taking the seat next to his, she 
slid into his lap. "What would you like to talk about?" 
She slid both arms around his neck. This action brought 
Cromwell distractingly close to those mesmerizing 
mounds that the man in the club had so accurately 
described as "fabulous". He felt himself stiffening.

He drew a deep breath. "Shana, there's something I have 
to tell you. Tomorrow morning, I have to appear in 
court to answer charges."

She stroked his hair. "Oh, darling, that's awful. Do 
you want me to go with you?"

"Wh-what?" It wasn't the response he had been 
expecting.

"You know, to keep you company. I'd be glad to come 
along if you want."

"Uh, no, that won't be necessary." She hadn't even 
asked what the charges were.

She brightened. "In that case, do you mind if I do a 
little shopping?"

Cromwell was confused again. Since when did Shana feel 
she needed permission to spend his money? "Uh, no, I 
guess not," he answered cautiously. "What in particular 
did you have in mind?"

She leaned closer, presenting him with an even better 
view of her glorious globes. Her voice sank an octave. 
"Well, I know how fond you are of teddies and things. 
But this is the only one I have." She frowned prettily, 
as if puzzled by how this sad state of affairs could 
have arisen. "I'd like to get more pretty new things. 
You know, for just around the house, for you." Her 
fingers gently massaged the back of his neck.

"Oh, uh, I see. Well, yes then, please, go right 
ahead!" He looked at his watch. "Oops, honey, I have to 
get going. It's almost nine, and I have to meet my 
lawyer at 9:30. I'd better get to the office."

Shana planted little kisses on his cheek. "You could do 
that, I s'pose," she whispered, snuggling up close. 
"You could hurry off to the office, just for half an 
hour." She paused to kiss him very thoroughly. "Or," 
she husked, her lips close to his, "you could stay here 
to eat your very horny wife."

Was this Shana? She had never allowed his lips to 
approach her pussy. She kissed him yet again and 
slipped her hand down to his iron-hard prick to sway 
his decision. She succeeded.

It was well past 9:30 by the time Cromwell wrestled 
himself from between the arms and legs of his newly 
amorous wife. A long session between her thighs leading 
to several mouthfuls of Shana's cum naturally led to 
another fuck, this one from behind with Shana clawing 
the sheets and chewing the pillow as Cromwell pounded 
her. Daylight and doggie sex were two other firsts for 
Shana who heretofore had only permitted missionary with 
the lights out and never allowed herself to orgasm. 
Even after he had come into her overheated, spasming 
pussy, Shana begged him to leave it in her for a little 
while longer.

He called the law office from his cell phone on the way 
to apologize for being late. The receptionist told him 
that Ms. Parnell had been detained in an earlier 
meeting, and would not be available to meet with him 
until later. She would call when she was free. Cromwell 
turned around and headed for the office.

The law office had not called by noon, so Cromwell 
called them. The receptionist told him that Ms. Parnell 
was "out", but she promised to call back. Cromwell 
called again near the end of the day. The receptionist, 
now clearly covering for Parnell's absence, passed him 
on to another lawyer, equally junior.

"Ms. Parnell has been called away from the office for a 
day or so," the man lied, "so I'll take your case in 
her absence. I understand we have a plea bargain in 
place, so the court appearance is mostly a formality."

Cromwell hung up the telephone, frowning. Why didn't 
anybody know where Parnell had gone?

As he drove the few miles home from his office, 
Cromwell turned to wondering about Shana. Perhaps her 
behavior that morning had been a ploy, softening him up 
for a mega dose of bitchiness or some new bank-account 
shattering purchase. Shana put that idea to rest when 
she greeted him at the door in a black velvet bustier 
that thrust out the flawless half-moons of her chest 
without covering the nipples, matching black velvet 
panties, shimmering dark pantyhose and funky black 
ankle boots.

Cromwell had a bit of a weakness for heavy ankle boots, 
but he could remember the row it had caused when he 
shared that secret with his indignant wife. Right at 
that moment, as he watched Shana slink toward him with 
a look of almost predatory lust, Cromwell was surprised 
he could remember his middle name. She melted into his 
arms, kissing him as if he had just returned from six 
months in the jungle. "Come on in and have a drink, 
darling," she urged. "Dinner's almost ready."

Dinner was sumptuous and delicious. Shana did not 
change to eat. She sat across from him, her distended, 
red-topped nipples on full display, and gazed at her 
husband adoringly. Cromwell barely noticed the food.

After dinner Shana insisted that Cromwell relax with a 
second drink while she modeled all the pretty things 
she had bought that afternoon. She put soft music on 
the stereo and slowly changed out of one exotic outfit 
and into another in front of him, getting thoroughly 
worked up in the process. She was less than half way 
through the collection before she gave up. Cromwell was 
hard, anyway and they ended up back in bed again, or 
rather in an urgent rut on the living room rug, which 
was as far as Shana could go before getting Cromwell 
stuffed into her.

They made it into bed eventually. Cromwell hoped the 
neighbors hadn't heard Shana screaming out his name 
during her orgasms. The next morning, his wife once 
again roused him without an alarm clock, allowing him 
to eat her to multiple orgasms for the second time in 
their marriage before insisting on riding him to an 
orgasm that delayed his arising.

*****

II

*****

Cromwell did manage to make it to the law office on 
time the next morning, but it was a near thing. Shana 
had decided that there was no need to wear underwear 
beneath her black lace body stocking "just around the 
house", but nevertheless opted for the high-heeled, 
mirror-black pumps. She had a regular luncheon with 
some of the other rich wives in the neighborhood. When 
Cromwell mentioned it she waved a hand and told him she 
would rather stay home and clean house. She saw him off 
only after insisting he take her one last time bent 
over the counter in the kitchen, proving the wisdom of 
her decision to dispense with undergarments.

"Probably just as well you didn't take this to trial," 
Cromwell's new lawyer told him later as they waited in 
the courtroom. "I wouldn't relish tangling with that 
lot." He nodded toward the other bench. Cromwell's 
substitute lawyer was a young black man, thin and 
earnest.

Tawny was sitting on the other side of the courtroom, 
accompanied by two lawyers, both older and clearly 
experienced. She was dressed conservatively, in a very 
long grey skirt, worlds away from the cheerful little 
minis she used to wear to the office. Her hair was 
pulled back in a bun, giving her the look of an old 
fashioned school mistress, not the little vixen who had 
come onto him at the party, practically begging to be 
fucked. She didn't meet Cromwell's eyes.

A back door opened and the judge entered the room. 
Judge Harris was younger than Cromwell expected. She 
would have been pretty but for the air of harried 
impatience about her. Black robes swished as she 
marched to her seat behind the bench.

"Well, what have we got this morning," she said 
briskly, shuffling papers. "Sleikbody vs. Cromwell. I 
understand the parties have agreed to a resolution to 
this unfortunate business." She looked over at 
Cromwell's table as if examining some lower life form. 
"Excuse me Counselor, but I have a Ms. Parnell listed 
on this case."

Cromwell's lawyer got to his feet. "Uh, yes, that's 
correct Your Honor, but my colleague is, uh, indisposed 
at this moment and, uhm, hasn't been able to attend. 
However, no formal representation will be required, as 
we have negotiated an out-of-court settlement with the 
aggrieved party. My client is willing to --"

The door to the courtroom burst open. "Wait! No plea 
bargain!" cried a female voice. Heads turned toward the 
attractive blonde rushing into the room. "So sorry I'm 
late, Your Honor." She stumbled up to Cromwell's desk 
and flung her briefcase on the table. "Penelope 
Parnell, representing Mr. Cromwell." She rested a hand 
on his shoulder.

"Penelope! What the hell?" her associate whispered.

"Ms. Parnell, what is the meaning of this?" the judge 
demanded.

Cromwell was wondering that himself. Ms. Parnell looked 
different. She was wearing a fetching pink suit over a 
frilly white blouse. Cromwell couldn't remember seeing 
Parnell in anything except black pantsuit. The skirt on 
the suit was rather brief for a barrister to wear to 
court, especially with the pink high heels she had 
chosen to go with it. Still, as he admired Parnell's 
shapely legs Cromwell couldn't imagine anyone 
complaining. She had changed her hair too, letting the 
tight curls flow loosely down her back, with two locks 
trained to fall on each side of her face.

"I beg the court's pardon," Ms. Parnell said formally. 
"I was detained by... an urgent medical situation. 
However, I am prepared to go forward with this case as 
planned, so with my colleague's permission I will take 
over from here." She squeezed Cromwell's shoulder 
possessively.

Cromwell's other lawyer, clearly taken by surprise, 
started to protest. Parnell glared at him. "I *said*, 
I'll take over from here, John."

He wilted. "Uh, very well then," he muttered. He sat 
down.

Ms. Parnell turned to the judge, smiling.

Judge Harris did not smile back. "Well, if we have 
sorted out who is in charge, perhaps you would like to 
explain that dramatic outburst, Ms. Parnell?"

Parnell said: "Your Honor, I have come into ... new 
information pertaining to this case which may influence 
my client's decision regarding the proposed plea 
bargain. If I could be granted a brief continuance, 
perhaps until tomorrow, to discuss this with my client 
--"



"I'll give you an hour recess," the judge said sourly. 
"A continuance is hardly warranted just to decide a 
plea. Court will reconvene at 11." She scowled at 
Parnell. "Don't be late."

Ms. Parnell was in motion almost before the judge 
banged the gavel. "Come on," she said urgently, taking 
Cromwell's hand. "We have to hurry."

"But, but, wait --" Cromwell protested as the lithesome 
lawyer almost dragged him out of the courtroom. Heads 
turned to admire the miniskirted blonde as she hurried 
down the hallway, walking with surprising speed and 
agility in her precarious pink pumps.

She was still holding his hand as she made her way down 
the courthouse steps. "Hurry!" she said again, "we have 
less than an hour." She led him to a sporty red car 
parked haphazardly in front of the courthouse. "Come 
on, get in." Ms. Parnell grabbed a parking ticket off 
the windshield and tossed it away, then fairly threw 
herself behind the wheel.

The car was in motion before Cromwell had his door 
closed. The blonde lawyer drove with reckless speed 
through the morning traffic. She didn't paused to do up 
her seatbelt or pull down her skirt, which had ridden 
up fetchingly around her hips.

"That, that light was red, I think," Cromwell 
suggested, holding on. "Penelope, what in blazes is 
going on?"

"Wait till we get to my office," she told him tersely.

Ms. Parnell jerked to a stop in front of her office 
building with one wheel on the sidewalk. She grabbed a 
package out of the back seat and bolted up the steps. 
She was halfway through the front door before Cromwell 
caught up with her. "Penelope!" cried a surprised 
secretary, "Where have you been? I have messages--"

"Later," she growled, without slowing down.

At last they arrived at Parnell's small office. The 
lawyer dragged Cromwell inside and locked the door. She 
threw her package on the desk.

"Finally!" she said. "I couldn't get out of that 
courtroom fast enough." She slipped off her suit jacket 
and tossed it over a chair.

Cromwell was breathless. "Penel -- I mean, Ms. Parnell, 
what is this all about? Why don't you want me to accept 
the plea bargain? And where *were* you all day 
yesterday?"

She stood still for a moment. "Where? Well, I... in a 
hospital, I think." Her voice softened, as if she were 
trying to remember a dream. "Maybe. There were doctors 
. . . and nurses or something . . . and machines . . ." 
She brightened. "Well, whatever. Let's concentrate on 
the case."

"All right, but first you told me Tawny's case was 
airtight, and now you turn around and -- what are you 
DOING?" Ms. Parnell's blouse fluttered down on top of 
her jacket. Underneath she wore some kind of tight, 
pink bustier, the kind Cromwell liked.

"I'm getting undressed, so you can fuck me, of course," 
the shapely blonde answered eagerly. She was already 
working on the skirt. She stopped abruptly. "You will 
fuck me, won't you?" a note of concern in her voice.

Cromwell had no ready answer to that. "I-- I-- what? 
What are you--, I mean, Penelope, you can't m-mean -- 
holy Toledo!" The miniskirt fell to the floor around 
her feet. Underneath she wore an elaborate pink garter 
belt clipped to flesh-tone nylons that sleeked up her 
legs from the pink high heels. She wore no panties.

"You do find me attractive, don't you, honey?" Ms. 
Parnell asked, stepping over the skirt toward him. "I 
mean, you wouldn't *mind* fucking me, would you?" She 
reached up and unfastened the clip holding her hair 
back.

Cromwell was bug-eyed. Was this the ice queen that had 
called him a middle-aged cad and practically thrown him 
out of her office two days ago? She advanced toward 
him, her eyes misty with desire. Her lips were parted 
slightly. She wore bright pink lipstick that matched 
her underwear. Her lower lips were naturally pink.

"Come on, baby, we only have a few minutes. Please?" 
the blonde entreated, snuggling up close. "Barely time 
for a good quickie but I'll make sure you like it; I 
promise." She pressed her soft lips against his, 
slipping her tongue in his mouth while she began to 
work his belt buckle.

When she let him up for air half a minute later, 
Cromwell was gasping for breath. "Ms. Parnell, I--"

"Call me Penny," she husked, between kisses. "Look, 
I've got something to show you." Holding him by his 
tie, she led him to her desk. She swept one hand across 
it impatiently. Files and papers and the telephone 
crashed to the floor. She hopped up on top of the desk. 
Leaning back on her elbows, she carelessly kicked her 
pink high-heels across the room. Then she reached into 
the bag she had brought from the car and extracted a 
pair of black stretch boots.

Without taking her eyes off Cromwell, Penny swung 
around so one foot rested on the desk, displaying her 
well-curved leg in profile. While Cromwell watched, she 
slipped the tight boot on her foot and pulled it up. 
The boot was barely calf-high, with a three-inch- thick 
platform and big block heel. She swung the other way 
and squeezed on the other boot. Then she lay back 
again, legs spread wide, short boots dangling over the 
desk, her pussy open and inviting. "You like?" she 
asked softly.

Cromwell licked his lips. He felt his resistance melt 
like butter in the hot sun. The boots were glossy and 
sexy and didn't match anything else she was wearing. 
Somehow that only made them look hotter. How had Penny 
known about his fetish for funky boots? "But, but, what 
about the case?" Cromwell asked blankly, as his pants 
slid down his legs. He was as hard as a diving board.

Penny sat up and flung her arms around his neck, 
drawing him closer. "The whole thing is a set-up, it 
has to be," she said. "We are going to fight this 
trumped-up bullshit every step of the way and I am 
going to get you a full acquittal. There is no way some 
underage tramp with a vendetta is going to *touch* you 
as long as I'm around, and I don't care if she has the 
best fucking lawyers in the country." She spoke 
vehemently, but distractedly, her hands were still 
busy, pulling down his underwear and stroking his rigid 
member urgently.

It was more than Cromwell could stand. He surged 
forward, groaning, letting her guide him into her. 
Penny Parnell gasped in delight as his cock slid home. 
"Fuck me, honey," she cried, wrapping her long legs 
around him. "Fuck me with my boots on. I need you so 
bad!"

The sexy young lawyer was too hot to take it slow. The 
couple began to piston rapidly, Cromwell standing in 
front of the desk with his pants around his ankles, the 
blonde babe in bustier and boots lying on top of it. 
She slid back and forth on the polished desk as 
Cromwell thrust into her again and again, grunting with 
exertion and primal lust. She was tight, wet, wanting, 
and utterly divine. Cromwell held her by her knees, 
delighting in the feel of sleek nylons along her 
luscious legs above the heavy ankle boots.

"Hurry, sugar, hurry," Penny panted, urging him on. 
"I'm so close! You are so gooooood!" A light sheen of 
sweat glistened on her face. One pert breast popped out 
of her strapless top from the force of her oscillations 
across the desktop. The nipple pointed at the ceiling 
like a glazed raspberry.

Cromwell lifted both her legs to give himself a deeper 
thrust. He kissed the top of one boot. "Penny, Penny, 
we have to, (gasp) to go b-back into court in a minute. 
What are we (huff, huff) going to do?"

"Don't stop," Penny gasped, throwing back her long, 
loose blonde hair. "Don't ever stop. Almost there, 
almost there...aw shit, it's so good. Don't worry 'bout 
the huh! huh! case, sugar, I'll ask for... oh yes, ask 
for, for, forrrrrr a continuAAAANCE!" Her shout was so 
loud, as the orgasm overtook her, that the entire 
office undoubtedly became aware of her defense 
strategy. Cromwell felt her love tunnel spasm around 
his dick, and the sweet sensation drove him over the 
edge to his own release. With a series of deep grunts 
he came powerfully inside her.

There was little time for further discussion. By the 
time Cromwell and his sex-happy lawyer had cleaned up 
and gotten dressed again they were due back in court in 
a few minutes. Penny dashed across town with the same 
reckless speed as before. She abandoned the car in a 
stall reserved for judges.

Maybe it was the glow of sexual satisfaction that she 
radiated or the sexy new wiggle in her walk, but Penny 
turned even more heads as she clipped down the hallway 
to the courtroom. Cromwell found he had to look up at 
her. "Penny," he cried as they entered the court, "You 
forgot to take your boots off!"

*****

Tawny and her lawyers had already returned. As before, 
Tawny refused to look up as Cromwell went by. The older 
lawyer looked at Penny though, in her mini-length suit 
and fancy platform boots, a little spunk trickling down 
her shapely leg. His face registered envy cloaked as 
disapproval. Penny stuck her tongue out at him.

The court appearance did not go very well. Penny 
entered a new plea of not guilty on Cromwell's behalf. 
She stood with her briefcase carefully positioned in 
front of her feet. Then she asked for a two-week 
continuance to prepare a proper defense.

Unfortunately, Tawny's lawyer objected. He told the 
judge how this matter was terribly painful for his 
client, how any delay constituted a continued affront 
to her rights to restitution, and how obvious delaying 
tactics on the part of the accused should not be 
indulged when they had turned down a very fair 
settlement at the last moment. He spoke eloquently, 
presenting clear and elegant arguments and citing cases 
without notes.

It was enough to persuade Judge Harris. "I'll give you 
one more day," she told Parnell flatly. "Then this 
trial begins without further delay." She banged down 
her gavel and stomped out of the room.

"What do we do now?" Cromwell asked, as the courtroom 
emptied around them.

Penny leaned close to him. "Well, since I'm already 
wearing my fuck-me boots ," she said reasonably, "I 
think you should take me back to my place, and drill me 
silly with that *gorgeous* big peter of yours." She 
sighed in anticipation.

"But the trial begins tomorrow! Shouldn't we be 
planning strategy?"

"Oh ... sure. We'll do that, too."

*****

It was near dinnertime when Cromwell finally made his 
way home. Penny left him with a long, deep kiss at her 
door, promising to spend the evening preparing his 
case. She was still wearing her boots, but she had 
pretty much lost everything else.

Cromwell was nervous about the case. He hoped he could 
sleep that night. It helped that his wife met him at 
the door with a warm kiss and his favorite drink. If 
she smelled another woman on him or was distressed 
about his late arrival, she failed to mention it The 
house was spotless. Dinner was delicious. Afterward, 
Shana brought him another drink.

She was dressed like a high-school cheerleader. She 
wore knee socks, and there were little pom-poms on her 
gym shoes. He sipped his drink while she giggled giving 
him a long, satisfying backrub. Well, it began as a 
backrub. Cromwell hardly thought about the case at all 
that night.

*****

"Penny, where is everybody?" whispered Cromwell, late 
the next morning. They were seated in the courtroom, 
waiting, along with Tawny's legal team and the rest of 
the court personnel, for the judge to arrive. Tawny 
wasn't there either. The junior lawyer on her side kept 
slipping out to make telephone calls. The older man 
looked irritated.

Penny said: "This is so unusual. Judge Harris runs a 
tight ship. She's never late." Penny had pinned her 
hair back in a long ponytail. Her gold silk blouse was 
as frilly as on the previous day. She was wearing a 
tight, wrap-around skirt of some stretchy material. The 
skirt ended well above the knee, but it was designed to 
flash a lot more leg every time she took a step. At 
least she had remembered to wear proper shoes today.

For someone who had stayed up most of the night working 
on his defense, Penny was in a remarkably good humor. 
She even offered Cromwell a little head, to calm him 
down before court. Cromwell declined politely. He 
didn't mention that he had already had two delightful 
bouts with his wife that morning. He had awakened to 
her invitation of a 69 and she had insisted on his 
banging her over a dining room chair "for luck" before 
she would let him out the door. Shana seemed to enjoy 
them as much as he did.

"I just want to get on with this," Cromwell grumbled.

"Oh, now you are nervous, aren't you sugar," Penny 
commiserated. "Here, let me help." She took his hand in 
hers and guided it to her lap. With her free hand she 
lifted the edge of her skirt a little and slid 
Cromwell's hand underneath.

"Penny, what are you --"

She smiled at him. "This way we can both relax. Here, 
up a little higher. Use your fingers. Oh, that's nice."

Cromwell looked around nervously. "Penny, we're in 
court for the lovagod, and you -- you're not wearing 
any --"

"They'd just get in your way," Penny whispered, guiding 
his hand.

Finally, Judge Harris walked into the courtroom. The 
judge was in much better spirits today. She didn't seem 
nearly as hurried. She strolled deliberately, almost 
lazily, to her place behind the bench, a peaceful smile 
playing on her features. She had changed her hairstyle. 
Her walk was different too. Cromwell only caught a 
glimpse as she walked by, but he could have sworn she 
was wearing spike heels.

"Good morning everybody," the judge said brightly. 
"Sorry I'm a bit tardy. Couldn't be helped. Are we 
ready to proceed?" Penny had released Cromwell's hand 
when she stood for the judge, but the moment she sat 
down she pulled it back again. Judge Harris waved a 
hand at Tawny's attorney. "Counselor, where is the 
plaintiff?"

"Your Honor, my client has not yet arrived in court, 
and as yet we have been unable to locate her. I suggest 
we recess until --"

"I suggest you find her," the judge cut him off. "Maybe 
she went home to mother." The few spectators tittered.

"Uh, no, apparently not, Your Honor, she isn't at home 
or at work or at the home of any known relatives. I 
think perhaps she just has a case of courtroom 
jitters."

"What does this mean?" Cromwell whispered to his 
lawyer.

"It means they're screwed," she answered, still guiding 
his fingers. "Oh, you're making me so wet." She 
squirmed in her chair.

Judge Harris said: "It is a principle of fundamental 
justice that the accused has a right to face his 
accuser. I am not prepared to proceed with this trial 
until Ms. Sleikbody is in the room." She tapped her 
fingernails on the bench top. They were painted bright 
red.

The lawyer began treading water. "Uh, in that case, 
Your Honor, I see no recourse but, uhm, to request a 
brief continuance, to give us time to, uh, locate my 
client."

The judge was not sympathetic. "Counselor," she said 
coolly, "yesterday it was you who would brook no delays 
in bringing this case to trial. It was you who argued 
so passionately that any delay was a denial of justice 
to your client. Well, that sword cuts both ways. If a 
delay is unacceptable to the complainant, it is equally 
unacceptable to the defendant. This poor man" -- she 
paused here to give Cromwell a protective smile -- "has 
been pestered enough by these unproved accusations. I 
will not tolerate any further harassment."

"But Your Honor, if we could just have --"

"Oh be quiet. The case is dismissed." She banged the 
gavel over the lawyer's shocked protests. She winked at 
Cromwell.

"Yes!" Penny enthused. "Oh yes, Yes, YES!" Her eyes 
were half closed. Cromwell wasn't sure if she was 
responding to the judge's decision or to the action of 
his fingers in her pussy. He felt it clinch before 
groaning and bathing his hand with girl juice.

"What does this mean?" Cromwell asked. "Am I clear?"

Penny didn't answer until her breathing was more 
normal. "Oh, they could, mmmmm, still pursue the, 
oohhhh my, criminal case, I suppose," Penny responded, 
thrusting her hips below the table, clearly going for 
round two, "but it has, has, oh yes right there, no 
hope of suc -succeeding after summmmmmary dismissal of 
the, oh, yes, oh, civillll suit. God, I think I'm about 
to commmme!" Without dislodging his questing fingers, 
she turned toward him, throwing one leg over his lap. 
She clenched her teeth and shuddered through a second 
orgasm right there in the courtroom.

"Oh, my word that turned out nicely," Penny sighed, 
when she could breath again. She licked Cromwell's ear. 
Then she buried his lips in a long, hot victory kiss. 
"Let's go some place and celebrate!"

*****

Cromwell was in such a good mood the next morning that 
he was almost whistling. After an afternoon of mostly 
horizontal celebration with Penny, he had taken Shana 
out for dinner and dancing, something she hadn't been 
willing to do for years. His wife shared his excitement 
that the charges against him had been dropped, although 
she didn't seem very interested in what those charges 
had been. She was too busy trying to grope him on the 
dance floor, notwithstanding the stares that a woman in 
an extremely short skirt, skyscraper heels, an almost 
transparent blouse and no panties attracted. Where the 
Hell had she learned the lambada?

*****

The chill in the office was replaced by warm 
acceptance. Everyone told him how relieved they were 
that his ordeal was over. Colleagues became friends 
again. One of them directed him toward the bulletin 
board, where he found a full-page retraction and abject 
apology from Tawny. She had posted the same message to 
everybody's e-mail, just to be sure.

Cromwell walked into his office. A scorchingly sexy 
young woman was lying on top of his desk, like a 
centrefold model posing for a photoshoot. "Ga!" said 
Cromwell.

It was Tawny.

"Good morning Mr. Cromwell," Tawny said in a little-
girl voice. His former secretary was wearing a tight-
fitting, leopard-pattern mini-dress so short it made 
her regular minis look prudish. The dress was low-cut 
across the bodice to reveal the top third her proud 
young breasts, so perfect and round they almost looked 
polished. Sleek, dark nylons graced her legs, capped 
off with tight, over-the-knee boots patterned in the 
same leopard-skin motif as the dress.

"Ga!" said Cromwell again. "I mean, T-Tawny. What are 
you doing here?"

Tawny was lying across the desk with her legs bent and 
her head elevated so her thick brown hair tumbled down. 
"I came back to apologize," she said contritely, "for 
everything. For everything I've done to you. I've been 
*sooo* bad. I guess I should be spanked." She swung her 
legs around and got to her feet gracefully, despite the 
challenging high heels on her animal-skin boots. "I'm 
sorry Mr. Cromwell, I really am. Please, can you ever 
forgive me?"

"Tawny, what are you talking about?" He struggled to 
avoid staring at her legs. He failed completely.

"It, it wasn't my idea, not at first," Tawny replied. 
"It was Klara." She referred to another office lovely, 
the one who had held the video camera. "S-she said that 
you were always, like looking at her, and flirting, and 
saying things, like you did with me, and, and if we 
made sure you had lots to drink at the party and kind 
of goaded you a bit, we could get it all on tape and, 
well, she said kind of get even and maybe get some 
money too." Tears threatened her mascara. "Oh, I don't 
know why I went along with it. I-I mean you've been so 
g-good to me, and, and you're such a wonderful man to 
work for, I was the luckiest girl in the world, and now 
I've gone and ruined it." She stood forlornly in the 
middle of his office, looking marvelous and miserable.

Cromwell said, "Tawny, it's over now. The case was 
dismissed." Her tight dress stopped a few inches past 
the curve of her bottom. Just looking at her legs was a 
sexual experience.

"Please, Mr. Cromwell, there's one more thing. I, I 
know I don't deserve it, and I won't complain if you 
say no, but, but, could I, maybe . . ." She hesitated, 
then blurted: "Could you give me my.. my old job back?" 
Her voice broke into sobbing.

This caught Cromwell by surprise. "You want to work as 
my secretary?"

She took a step toward him, hands clasped. "Oh yes, 
please, please, please. Let me be your secretary again, 
please Mr. Cromwell. I'll do a really super job, I 
promise. I'll take a big pay cut if you want. I'll make 
it up to you for what I've done. Just give me another 
chance, please?" She looked up at him tearfully. 
Cromwell felt his underwear stiffen.

"Well, I don't know, after all that..." Cromwell 
demurred.

"Please, Mr. Cromwell," Tawny gushed. "Let me be your 
secretary. I'll do anything if you'll let me work for 
you again." She stepped up close and slid her arms 
around his neck. She wore leopard- pattern gloves that 
came up past the elbow. "Please?"

Cromwell found himself speechless. Standing this close 
to her, with her dewy eyes gazing into his, he could 
smell a delicate perfume floating up from the deep 
shadows of her cleavage. He opened his mouth to say 
something. Tawny kissed him, suddenly, tenderly, as if 
taken by an impulse she couldn't resist.

"Please give me just one more chance," she whispered, 
her lips an inch from his. "I'll do lots more than just 
type." She kissed him again. "Look, let me show you how 
I'll take care of you." She was already sliding down, 
using his body for support as she sank gracefully to 
her boot-covered knees on the carpet. Cromwell just 
stared in amazement as his former secretary unzipped 
his pants, then reached in with a gloved hand to free 
his maleness. He was hard already.

"Mmmmm, yummy," Tawny whispered. She cupped him in one 
hand, lifting his rod like an offering toward her 
waiting mouth. She slid her crimson lips over him, 
somehow taking inch after inch of his cock into her 
mouth until her throat began to bulge. When had she 
learned how to do that?

Cromwell was beyond caring. He gasped in delight as her 
mouth and tongue worked magic. He glanced at the clock 
on his desk; it was not yet nine-thirty in the morning, 
yet Cromwell was receiving his second masterful blowjob 
of the day. As Tawny's head began to bob rhythmically 
up and down his shaft, he had already decided to take 
pity on the girl. In gratitude, she swallowed every 
drop.

*****

"Of course I will. Thank you, R. J." Cromwell put down 
the telephone and announced: "It's official. From the 
first of next month I'm the newest vice-president."

From her place behind his chair, Tawny squealed with 
delight. "Oh, Crommie, that's wonderful!" She was 
dressed in one of her office outfits, a bright silver 
micro skirt coupled with a tight black sweater and 
tight black boots. She was standing behind Cromwell's 
high-backed chair, massaging his shoulders while he 
worked.

Cromwell put his feet up on the desk and contemplated 
how much life had improved in the last several months. 
His legal difficulties were almost forgotten. At home 
he had a loyal and insanely passionate wife so far 
removed from the cold demanding bitch she had been that 
they might have been two different species. After years 
of refusal even to discuss it, one night after some 
wine and an especially good fuck, *she* had brought up 
the question of children. Not IF, but how many she 
would like. Cromwell had talked her down to four, but 
suspected Shana was planning for several extra 
"accidents." After all, she had informed him the night 
she broached the subject, she was already pregnant with 
twins. A little embarrassed, she confessed to switching 
from birth control to fertility pills some months ago 
without telling him. "A sexy man like you *deserves* to 
have lots of children," she explained. His sexy wife's 
eagerness to make babies with him, and her newly kinky 
imagination both in bed and out, still amazed him. As 
Cromwell knowingly fucked his wife's pregnant pussy for 
the first time, she giggled that once her tummy began 
to swell with his baby, she'd REALLY be hot.

In the office he had a sex fantasy for a secretary and 
a sharp young lawyer who insisted on doing all his 
legal work pro bono. He grinned. Pro "boner" would be 
more accurate. It was the least she could do, she told 
him, for the man who had put that delightful little 
bulge in her tummy.

They had done it: that man in the club, the sweet voice 
on the telephone. He had no idea how they had done 
whatever they did, but the result was certainly 
satisfactory. More than satisfactory. Maybe he should 
let them know.

"Tawny, hand me the card file, will you." he said 
absently. Cromwell could have reached it himself, but 
Tawny's locomotion was always worth experiencing.

"Sure, Crommie" she replied. She wiggled around to 
retrieve the card file off the front of the desk. The 
little metallic skirt shimmered with the sway of her 
spreading hips. Cromwell admired the slender perfection 
of her legs, displayed so fetchingly by sheer nylons 
and stretch boots. The only condition Cromwell had 
imposed in return for her job was that Tawny dress to 
show off those marvelous legs. Her compliance, even now 
that she was expecting, exceeded Cromwell's 
expectations. Her milk-swollen tits jiggled 
delightfully as she handed him the card file.

Now, where was that card? As he flipped through the 
file Tawny sat on the desk and casually crossed her 
knees. The micro-miniskirt hiked up around her thighs. 
Cromwell was distracted. She had done the same thing 
yesterday, and ended up with her back on the desk and 
her high-heeled sandals pointing at the ceiling. He 
wondered how long into her pregnancy she could keep 
that up?

That sort of thing took Tawny's time away from her 
regular secretarial duties, but Cromwell wasn't 
concerned. Klara, Tawny's co-conspirator in the assault 
case, had happily volunteered to take over any extra 
work, in addition to her regular job. She was in the 
outer office at that moment, all business, catching up 
on correspondence. But Cromwell every time she could 
pry him away from Tawny long enough, Karla would give 
him a nice, "Can-you-forgive-me?" fuck. He had shown 
her there were no hard feeling with her own "All-is-
forgiven" baby.

This change in attitude appeared just after Klara 
disappeared for two days without explanation. She 
worked diligently, only stopping every fifteen minutes 
or so to check her make-up. Ann, the third witness to 
Cromwell's indiscretion at the party had started 
wearing fishnet nylons to work. Since she began to 
show, she brought Cromwell fresh flowers and coffee 
every morning.

At last Cromwell found the card the man had given him. 
He flipped it over. The card was completely blank. If 
he looked very closely, Cromwell could make out the 
outline of one digit of the telephone number that 
hadn't yet faded away completely.

Cromwell chuckled. He tossed the card in the 
wastebasket. He looked at Tawny, preggy, leggy and 
luscious, posing like a pin-up girl on his desk. He 
cocked a finger at her. Smiling, she slipped off the 
desk and into his lap. "Let's celebrate, Mr. Vice-
President," she cooed.

*****

At that same moment, in another part of the city, a man 
about Cromwell's age was standing on a driving range. 
He had been there for some time. He was hitting golf 
balls everywhere, driving with far more energy than 
accuracy. His mind wasn't on his swing.

"Mr. Samson," said the man beside him suddenly, 
"suppose I were to tell you that divorce is not 
inevitable." He hit his ball cleanly and knocked it for 
a long drive. He watched it fall thoughtfully. "Suppose 
I were to tell you that not only would your wife 
forgive you for knocking up your mistress, she'd let 
you make her pregnant again, too?" He paused to tee up 
another ball. He was tall and wore glasses. "And that 
even your wife's sister could be persuaded to reverse 
the rather rude rebuff she gave you at last year's 
Christmas party. Wouldn't she look cute in maternity 
dresses?"

He leaned on his golf club and regarded the other man 
calmly. "Would that be worth something to you, Mr. 
Samson?"

*****

"Judge Harris? Of course. Put her through, Karla," 
Cromwell replied trying to calm his breathing as 
Tawny's sat astride him, thrusting herself busily on 
his manhood. Her recent return from maternity leave 
found her as ardent as ever and, it appeared, she was 
eager to start on another. The timing wasn't bad as 
Klara would be delivering quite soon, Ann was nursing 
and Penny was about three months along with her second.

<pause>

"Margaret! So good to hear from you. It's been a 
while."

<pause>

"Huh? Again? So soon after the twins? Why that's 
wonderful news!"

<pause>

"This one, too? Oh, Margaret, you devious girl. But you 
swore up and down you'd gone on the Pill this time! Tsk 
tsk!," Cromwell chuckled. "Next April, eh?"

<pause>

"Well of course I think we should celebrate. I'll drop 
by the courthouse around four."

<pause>

"Sorry, no sooner, baby. I'm, uh, deep into something 
right now." The spasms of Tawny's climaxing pussy had 
him on the brink of an inopportune orgasm. "I 
understand sweetheart. Hand in there, I'll come as soon 
as I can." (Tawny would see to that, he thought.) 
"You'll just have to make do with the vibrator until 
then."

<pause>

"You have? Why, sure. I think Oliver would be a very 
appropriate name."

The End