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From: Peter Rabbit <peters_paw@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} A Fair and Impartial Administration of Justice (M++/F, Cuck, Intr, Humor)
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Date: Sat, 13 Nov 2010 07:10:02 -0500
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email: HumblePie@gawab.com
attached:
Author: HumblePie
Title: A Fair and Impartial Administration of Justice
Universe: Phantomville, a universe created by C.D.E.
Summary: In Phantomville, if a man finds himself sexual attracted to
another man's wife and feels the need to sexually pursue her, it is
incumbent upon her husband to amicably minimize that need to the
satisfaction of the pursuer, or earn his day in court.
Keywords: M++/F, Cuck, Intr, Humor


   

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<1st attachment, "A Fair and Impartial Administration of Justice.txt" begin>

Copyright (c) November 2010 by HumblePie

   Note: This story takes place in the Phantomville Universe created by the
author C.D.E; an author with a decade long reputation as one of the most
skillful and creative storytellers in the genre.
It is in recognition of his great work and his contributions to our

community that I submit this story.

   I would also like to encourage all those who may not be familiar with
his work, to put this story aside & visit his collection.  You can find the
collection located at: /files/Authors/CDE

   TO BE READ BY ADULTS AT LEAST 21 YEARS OF AGE ---



   A Fair and Impartial Administration of Justice

   by HumblePie aka Peter



   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 Phantomville with non-compliant of section 405.5 of the Wife Protection

Ordinance, Failure to Comply, to which he pleads not guilty."

   "As stated in law: It is incumbent upon a husband to minimize the need
for any man who finds himself aroused by, or sexually attracted to his wife
from pursuing her.  The violation of said section is described under
Criminal Code 5655-c as a minimum one year confinement in Phantomville City
Jail and a $1,000 fine."

   "The defense has presented its case and we will now hear from the
prosecution.  Are you ready to present your case, Mr.  Jefferson?"

   "Yes your honor."

   "Fine, then you may call your first witness."

   "Thank you, your honor.  If I may, I would like to call Jamal Washington
to the stand."

   "Good afternoon, Mr.  Washington.  As way of information to the court I
would like to state that you are an active duty police officer for the City
of Phantomville, is that correct?"

   "Yes sir."

   "In addition, it is a matter of record that you are also known as,
Bosco, among your friends and associates, isn't that correct?"

   "Yeah, sure, my ma too, ever since I could remember."

   "Please Officer Washington.  A simply yes or no will be sufficient."

   "Sorry.  I was just saying that yeah, folks call me Bosco and yes, I've
been a Patrol Officer for three years."

   "An officer with an unblemished record, I might add.  And I've been told
by your commanding officer that you represent the finest this city has to
offer.  You should be quite proud of that, Officer Washington."

   "Ah, well, I ain't heard no complaints."

   "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.  Washington."

   "Yes, well it'd been a whole week since I'd last seen her, and well,
that's a pretty long time to go without.  So I . . ."

   "Without?  Without what, Officer Washington?"

   "What I'd been missing."

   "Yes, and that would be . . .?"

   "Hum, well, if you know Trixie, then you know there's a lot there to be
missing.  But if I had to pick just one I'd have to say it's the home
cooking."

   "Her home cooking?  Well that speaks well of her."

   "Yes sir, take it as gospel.  I mean, the oven is always hot, the table
set and the goods nicely spread out just begging you to drive your eating
u-u-utensil down deep into that prime "A" beef.  Um-um, and nothing smells
so sweet."

   "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, Chico, Stretch, Tank . . .  the whole lot," he points to
where they are sitting.

   "I see.  All fine, law-abiding, tax paying citizens of this fair City,
am I right?" He asked and then scanned the motley bunch dressed in NBA
sneakers and Celtic jerseys, sitting shoulder to shoulder and taking up the
entire front row.

   "Sure thing, they are all law-abiding, tax paying citizens.  Kwame owns
the pool hall on 43rd n' David.  Fumbe owns the Pussycat theatre next door
to it, and Chico and Stretch are in the escort business.  Then you got
Ozone who owns the peepshow arcade and Abdul who owns the massage parlor
where Trixie and her mom work."

   "And Ozie?"

   "Ah, well, I don't think I'm at liberty to say.  All I can tell you is
he has a license and his business it's legit.  I think!"

   "Can you be more specific?"

   "Huh!  Well, let's just say they call him Ozi because he gathers up
recyclable beer cans for a living."

   "Yes, well let's leave that for a moment shall we so we can again
address the matters before this court.  You've stated that your
relationship with Trixie goes back many years, is that correct."

   "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.  Washington?"

   Again, a scattering of chuckles erupts from those in attendance.

   "Yes sir, but nothings changed between Trixie n' her friends.  Fact, she
told us so before she asked for his hand in marriage."

   "She asked for his hand in marriage?"

   "Sure thing, she's a very independent woman.  She said she told him that
she was asking him to become part of her life and NOT the other way round.
And that he was taking the whole package or none at all.  Her words."

   "So you had every reason to believe your first meeting with the
Defendant would be amicable, correct."

   "Yes sir, no hostilities whatsoever.  Besides, he doesn't offer much in
the way of competition no way.  You can tell just by looking at him.  As
for the rest, Trixie said we needn't worry about that either," he added,
then held up his thumb and forefinger as a measure of distance to clarify
the matter.

   "Plus she said that Mr.  F-F-Fag-a-whatever his name, just plain liked
the stuff."

   Again the scattering of chuckles erupted, only this time followed by the
judge's gavel.

   Judge: "I'll have order in this court.  If I hear one more snicker the
next time Mr.  Fagnano's name is mentioned, I'm going to call in the Riot
Squad and have you jackasses summarily executed by firing squad.  Any
questions?" Judge Benoit inquired, while the Bailiff suspiciously eyeballed
those in attendance with his hand at rest atop his holstered gun.
The silence was deafening, disturbed only by the sound of a pump sliding
down the barrow of a shotgun, and immediately followed with every head in

the place turning toward Ozi.

   "Good, now please continue, Mr.  Jefferson."

   "Yes, thank you your honor.  Now, Officer Washington, I wonder if you
might be able to clarify for this court what she meant when she said that
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.  Jefferson."
"Thank you, your honor.  Now, Officer Washington, I wonder if you can

tell this court why the Defendant was so upset?"

   "Well, at the time I wasn't quite sure, but being an officer of the law
n' all I thought I'd better make it my business before things got out of
hand.  So I did."

   "Yes, now please tell this court what happened next?"

   "Sure.  I stepped up and asked what was goin' on.  Only he didn't answer
me directly.  Instead he went right on screaming n' stomping like he wasn't
hearing me at all.  In fact, he seemed a bite out of control.  Like his
head weren't screwed on tight and wasn't thinking on no rational basis."

   "He was behaving irrationally, correct?"

   "Yes, in fact he was behaving so irrationally that I thought him a
threat, both to himself as well as others.  So I thought it best to try and
settle him down before pursuing my questioning any further."

   "How so?"

   "By telling him that everyone there were reasonable folks and that there
was no need to carry on like that.  I then asked him to please settle
down."

   "And?"

   "And, well, I finally got his attention.  He began screaming at me, at
which time he said, and I quote:"

   "Settle down?  This baboon has just exposed himself to me and you want
me to settle down?"

   "Baboon?" He called Kwame a Baboon?"

   "Yipe!  Sure did, only I didn't let that bother me none.  Instead I just
repeated my request."

   "Which was . . .  ?"

   "Please Sir, I must ask you again to please settle down so we can talk
civilly about this.  Otherwise Kwame here might take a dislike to you.  In
which case you may end up taking on a much bigger load than even a li'l guy
like you can swallow, likin' the stuff or not."

   "How did he respond?"

   "He replied, and I quote:"

   "Like it?  Like it?  Do you think I like this . . .  this, tree dwelling
African primate waving his penis at me?"

   "Tree dwelling primate!  My word," the prosecutor shook his head in
repulsion.  "So how did you respond, Officer Washington?"

   "I told him, 'Look, Mr.  F-F-Fag-a-whatever your name is, I'm not going
to ask you again.  Will you please settle down?'"

   "But again, he just kept right on screaming out them obscenities, not
payin' me no mind at all."

   "That was then he moved in on Kwame, close-in and personal like and got
in his face.  Or tried to, because Kwame is 6-6 and the Defendant is 5-6,
so he had to stand atop his top-toes just to reach his chin."

   "To me it looked kind'a funny only I could see that Kwame wasn't taking
it so well.  But when he said to Kwame that he was an 'animal who belonged
in a cage,' well now, that got him darn right fired up."

   "Now I know an angry man when I see one, Mr.  Jefferson, and I can tell
you straight up, if it hadn't been for my being there, Kwame would have
thrown the li'l fella right out the picture frame window.  Not a good thing
at all."

   "So believing him a threat to himself and others, I decided to step in
and grab him by the arm in order to bring a stop to it."

   "Or leastwise I tried, because before I could ask the Defendant to
please come outside with me, he glared up at me and said, quote:"

   "Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!"

   "Ape!  He called you an ape?"

   "Yo bro.  Which really didn't bother me so much because believe me, I've
heard worse.  It did say a lot about his state of mind, however.  By that
time I was 100% certain that the li'l guy had completely lost his head, and
that he wasn't about to follow through with the request of a law
enforcement officer in the performance of his duties."

   "So it stands to reason that when he began to reach for something in his
pocket that I'd respond to his action as a threat.  Which I did, and right
then n' there I 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.  Washington.  You may step
down."

   "Your honor, if it pleases the court I would like to call Mrs.  Trixie
Fagnano to the stand."

   From the row of seats located immediate behind the Defendant's table, a
curvaceous and sultry young beauty arose up from a gentleman friend's lap
and slowly advanced toward the front of the 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.  Jefferson.  What do have in mind?"

   "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.  Jefferson!  You are trying the patience of this court."

   "Yes your honor, I apology.  However, I think it's going to be very
difficult to keep that from happening again.  One, because of the
peculiarity of the defendant's name and two, because his presence in the
room seems only to further aggravate the problem.  It's a lethal
combination that will only get worse given the personal nature of this
witness's testimony."

   "Therefore in effort to avoid further disruptions and delays, I'd like
to appeal to the court and ask that he be excused until this witness has
completed her testimony."
Judge: "Does the Defense have any objections?"
Defense Attorney: "No sir, this witness was not present at the scene and
has no factual evidence to reveal concerning the conduct of my client

during the incident.  Therefore I have no reason to object."

   Judge: "I was wondering about that myself, Mr.  Jefferson.  Why call his
wife to the stand when she didn't witness the incident and has nothing of
factual importance to give to this court?"
Prosecutor: "Your honor, this witness is not here to present testimony
concerning the guilt or innocence of the Defendant.  I believe those facts
are already well established."
"I have called this witness to give guidance to this court on another
critical matter facing this court.  Sentencing!  Just as Officer
Washington, our previous witness has stated, the criminal codes in and of
themselves do not always address what is in the best interest of the felon
or the community at large.  A fair and impartial administration of justice
is what is at stake here, and it is my hope that this witness will be able

to help in that regard."

   "Yes, well, as you know the time to consider matters of sentencing comes
after the establishment of guilt.  Still, since the Defensive has no
objections I'd like to hear what she has to say."

   "Bailiff, will you please escort Mr.  Fagnano into the holding room."

   "You may proceed, Mr.  Jefferson."

   "Thank you, your honor."

   "You know, madam, there's something I'm still don't understand," he
voiced his concern.  Then for added effect, he first pointed toward the
Defense table where her husband once sat, then pointed toward her while
mouthing the words, "You, him."

   "Am I missing something?" he then audibly spoke out.

   "You want to know why I wanted to marry him?  What it is that I see in a
man who is so utterly vulnerable, faint and virtually imperceptible when
walking down the street?"

   "Yes madam.  I'm looking for evidence that might shed some light on why
your husband was so filled with hate and anger that night."

   "Well, to know him is to love him as they say.  I mean, he's not the
sort of monster you portray him to be.  In fact before this incident, I
hardly thought him capable of uttering a bad word."

   "It was out of character for him to behave this way.  Is that what
you're telling this court, madam?"

   "Yes.  He's a nice guy."

   "So you married him because you saw him as a 'nice guy'?"

   "No, of course not.  He has many remarkable qualities.  Not all of which
are readily apparent.  Still, I can understand your concern.  'Still waters
run deep,' and all else that comes with being a soft spoken, weasley little
mama's boy who keeps his feelings locked up inside only to be expressed in
an explosion of anger at some point later on."

   "Yes, madam.  I think that pretty much sums up what is at issue before
this court."

   "Well, you do have a right to be concerned, as do I, as did his mother
before me.  Concerns she had express to me:"

   Quote: "Although he may not look it or act like it, he does have a set
of balls.  And even as little and none describe as they may be, as long as
his testosterone laden brain keeps trying to convince him he's something
he's not, the potential for rebellion exists.'" Unquote.

   "Did his mother seek out help for him?"

   "Oh yes, she had help, a 3 foot long leather riding crop that she has
since given to me as a wedding gift to beat his ass raw.  Something she did
every few days whether his behavior warranted it or not.  Sort of a lesson
to teach him that he is not the man his testosterone laden brain is telling
him."

   Prosecutor: "You're saying she was a firm believer in that old axiom,
'Spare the rod, spoil the child,' is that correct?"
"No, no!  I mean, he is 23 years old after all.  Not a child in need of
a reminder to behave.  It was an adult to adult thing.  I say that because
she really didn't see him as a man, and that pretty much sums up what those
whippings were all about.  They were a reminder of his inadequacies.  That
he is not equipped to compete as a man.  A fact she insisted he own up to,
which he was quite willing to do after one of her therapy session.  I saw

the exchange myself, first hand:"

   "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 dipshit 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
Micropenis.  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.  Jefferson.

   Bigger than most micro-wees I'm told.  But from where I was coming from,
it didn't make one iota of difference.  He was destined to pull on that wee
little thing himself regardless, as I laid back, spread my legs, and told
my darling sweet boy to whip out that snake.

   Now, you've got to remember, I had been on my way home after a very long
night of partying.  I was 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
naivete was explained away.  She'd told me that because of his 'condition,'
she refused to allow him to date.  Thus he had no experience with women at
all.  Instead, she kept him home tied to her apron.

   Not that she had to be too strong headed about it as I doubt he would
have had much luck in the dating pool regardless.  Besides, who's to argue
with his mother?  She did turned out one dandy little housekeeper after
all. He knows how to cook, Italian, and he can sew.  He even wore an apron
about the house he had made himself.

   In short, it made for a pretty exciting package, and I couldn't wait to
come over to visit each night.  Where his mother and I would sit in the
family room and talk and become familiar with one another while her
'Les-lie' finished preparation of the evening meal.

   I can assure you that the lady was never at a loss for words.  I found
her enjoyable to talk to and found that we shared many things in common. 
She also had a keen interest in me and would often talk ad 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 Kansas moon?  Well, in my eyes, that's a quality worth
keeping.

   I like the fact that he's a quick learner too.  I mean, it only took 10
lashes of that whip to get him to own up to his shortcomings as a man.  Had
his mother given him 5 more, I'm convinced she could have gotten him to
spread'em for the entire U.S.  Army if she was of a mind.

   But we've got to be realistic about this too.  He isn't equipped to
compete with real men, at least not with the equipment and skill-sets he's
got.  So if he is to survive he needs to learn alternative strategies to
resolve conflict.

   Throwing hissy-fits isn't going to cut it.  Neither will joining a
monastery or going mano e mano.  Hiring a body guard?  Not unless he can go
12 rounds with Vitali Klitschko.  So those options are gone.  Kaput!  Gone
the way of the Cassette Recorder, the three dollar six pack of beer and
American Heavyweight Champions.

   Nonetheless, not all is lost.  Not if he's willing to open himself up to
the possibilities that like we women, and the other peacemakers of this
world, he too can learn to manage conflict and peacefully resolve issues
when confronted by better, more superior men.

   And the great thing is, he can do so using the skill-set he already owns
- his unassuming nature and his compliant disposition.  That's what
separates him from the herd, and that's the key to winning a man's heart,
love and affection, rather than getting the shit beaten out of you.

   Simply put, only the bravest of men know that it's far better to just
give in and surrender, kiss and make up, than it is to waste time and
energy crying and pouting and throwing a hissy-fit.  Smarter too, especial
when you're a little guy like him, when 'holding out' only increases his
feeling of inferiority.

   I say, build on what you've got.  Employ the bonding skills we women use
to develop rapport and to please our man.  Like humility, resignation and
knowing how to pay homage when Johnny Humongous comes knocking at your back
door.

   That can only bring success.  And success equals reward.  No more
feelings of inferiority.  No more tears over how insignificant he is in
comparison to a real man.

   Of course I'm sure there will be obstacles that may take some time to
overcome.  Like hearing names like faggot, sissy, cocksucker or
penis-breath, bantered about.  You know names can be hurtful if you don't
understand that they are not always meant as derogatory.  On the contrary,
more often than not they are meant as terms of endearment.

   I mean, what man would even bother to waste his breath if he didn't
care. To me that's a good sign.  It shows that you've not only won his
trust and respect, but that he likes you too.  The same holds true when
asked to bend over and spread your cheeks.  What better expression of a
man's feeling than to want to stick it clear up to your eyeballs in one
mighty thrust, just as he would his own bride.  Quite the compliment, I'd
say.

   But I feel certain he'll overcome that too.  Not just because he loves
me and doesn't want to lose me, but because he has all the attributes
needed to make a splendid sissy whore.

   Besides, it's his responsibility to do so under our current law, and the
last thing he wants is to become a lawbreaker.  Personally, I feel pretty
darn proud to live in a city that has the wisdom to enact laws that place
humility, resignation and compliance above all else.  They are admiral
qualities build into the character of the peacemakers of this world, so why
not my darling sweet boy too.  He should be equally giving of himself to
whomever.

   Whether it's me asking him to clean out my lover's slop, or Dwight
asking him to clean off his dick.  What better way to keep in touch with
how insignificant he is compared to a real man.  Good medicine I say.  It
might even give him second thoughts the next time that testosterone laden
brain of his tries to fill him with a false sense of pride.

   I mean, I think it would be pretty damn hard thinking manly thoughts
when you've got a better, more superior man's twelve inch dick stuffed down
his throat.

   Don't you agree, Mr.  Jefferson?"

   Again, a scattering of laughter erupts among those in attendance.

   "Well I . . .  ah, suppose so, madam."

   "Yes, well, his mother also agrees.  A woman 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 to
anyone, if not everyone in this courtroom to come visit with us in 30 days
time.

   If by that time you don't find him amenable to snuggling up to you while
smile prettily and slipping his hands down your pants, it'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.  Jefferson.  Had it not been in place we
would have never known the true nature of Mr.  Fagnano's problem and in
error, tagged the sad little fella as a violent racist bigot without any
socially redeemable value.  A crime of which would have allowed me to

incarcerate him for as long as the law will allow."

   Prosecutor: "Correct, your honor.  Thanks to her testimony we now have a
clear understanding as to the nature of his problem as well as the
appropriate legal remedies to be exercised by this court.  Personally, I
feel a debt of gratitude for Mrs.  F-F-Fa . . .  Oh hell!  For Trixie's
help."
Judge: "And I you, Mr.  Prosecutor.  Who says you're not ready for a
judgeship.  Does the Defense wish to present a Closing Argument?"

   Defense Attorney: "No your Honor.  The Defense rests."

   "Does the Prosecution wish to present a Closing Argument?"
Prosecutor: "No your Honor, the prosecution rests its case."
Judge Benoit: "Then I'm prepared to hand down the verdict.  I, Lionel C.
Benoit, hereby find the Defendant, Mr.  Dick Les Fagnano, guilty of Failure
to Comply under section 405.5 of the Wife Protection Ordinance, and is
hereby sentenced to confinement for a period of one year in Phantomville

City Jail, pursuant to Criminal Code 5655-c."

   "However, in lieu of the circumstances in this case, I shall suspend my
decision and surrender the Defendant into the custody of his wife for a
period of 30 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://
www.asstr.org/files/Authors/CDE
Comments: HumblePie@gawab.com
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