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NIGHT COURT: Well-Hung Jury

By Uncle Mike


"What's next, Mac?" Judge Harry T. Stone twirled his gavel
idly as the two hookers were taken away to the lockup.

"Last one of the night, your Honor," the court clerk said,
slipping the folder in front of the judge. "Public indecency."

"I always like to go out with a bang, Mac," the judge said.
"OK, Dan, what have we got here? Buns on the run? Or the
whole hot dog?"

"More like a cocktail frank from the looks of him," the
assistant district attorney said, approaching the bench. Dan
Fielding was a tall, dark-haired man with a leer permanently
etched on his face.

"The defendant," Fielding began, "is one Peter Little ..." His
eyebrows soared as he turned to the bedraggled man next to
him, whose head came barely to Dan's shoulders. "No, really?"

"Hey, no jokes," the man snarled. "I'm sick of people
making fun of my name, picking on me, you know. I'm always
getting the short end of the stick."

"I would've thought the short end was what you gave
them," Dan said. Judge Stone gaveled him to attention.

"But anyway. Mr. Little exposed his, uh, stick, to a group of
Bible Society women in Central Park. They were able to
definitely ID him by, ah, shall we say, size."

"Uh-huh," the judge said, leaning over the bench to look
down at Little. "So what's his side of it?"

Christine Sullivan, the pert blond public defender, looked
up from her notes. "He was only bird-watching, your honor,"
she said. "Isn't that right, Dick -- I mean, Peter?"

"Y-yeah, right, I was bird-watching," the man mumbled.

"Yes," Dan interjected, "that's what he told the police, too.
And just what kinds of birds was he watching, Christine?"

She looked again at her notes and blushed. "I don't think
that's rele..."

"Tits!" Little said, smiling. "I was watching a beautiful
pair of tits!"

"A hobby I enjoy myself," Dan smirked, giving Christine a
wink.

"I see," the judge said, flipping closed the folder. "Well,
Mr. Little, for tonight you'll have to be the birdman of the
lockup. Bull, take him away." Harry looked down at Mac, who
nodded, before turning back to the courtroom. "And that,
ladies and gentlemen, is a wrap."

As he stepped down from the bench, Harry handed the
folder to Mac. "I don't know what it is," he said, stifling a
yawn, "but I'm really bushed tonight. I think I'll take a nap in
my office before I head home. How about you, Mac?"

"Oh, I've got some paperwork to finish up, and then Quon
Lee is picking me up. We're looking for a new couch," the
clerk said, hiking up the sleeves of his sweater.

Meanwhile Dan and Christine were at their respective
tables, stuffing papers into their briefcases. "Hey, Christine,
want to do some bird-watching tonight?" Dan said. "I bet we
can find a great pair of ..."

"Dan!" Christine didn't know why she always let herself
get so irritated with Dan's remarks. He seemed to get some
kicks just out of getting her mad, but try as she might she
could never just ignore him. "Just put a sock in it," she
snapped at him.

"Oh, but Christine, you'll love my nest ..."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing. "You can
forget it, Dan. You won't have anything to crow about tonight!"
She giggled. "Get it? Crow?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Well, see you tomorrow,"
he said, tucking his briefcase under his arm.

Christine was about to toss the last folder into her own
briefcase when she noticed a couple of empty blanks. "Darn!"

"What's wrong, Christine?"

Mac's voice startled her; she hadn't realized anyone else
was left in the courtroom. Christine gathered up some of her
papers, walked over to his desk and handed them over.

Mac grabbed them with a big, dark hand.

"See those blanks," she implored him. "Those, right. I
didn't get the next-of-kin or the address. Do you have those?"

Mac nodded and pulled out the man's folder, transferring
the information to Christine's files.

As he worked Christine sat on the edge of his desk. Her
tight beige skirt rode up as she crossed her long, lithe legs.
She wiggled one foot encased in a high-heeled pump,
impatiently. Then she looked down at Mac and realized she
shouldn't be taking her anger out on him. "Thanks a lot, Mac,"
she said. "I really appreciate this. It's always nice to
remember there's one gentleman in the courtroom." She let
out an unladylike snort.

"Are you letting Dan get to you?" Mac looked up from his
files.

Christine hesitated. She knew she had a tendency to gush
out her troubles to anyone who'd listen, and she'd made a
resolution to stop. But Mac seemed genuinely concerned.

"Oh, Mac, I don't know why I let him get to me," she said,
scooting down off the table and turning to face him. "He just
-- just -- oooh, I don't know. He knows how to push my
buttons."

As Christine bent over the table to talk, she exposed the
deep, sensuous cleft of her well-developed chest. She did it
unthinkingly. For all Dan's lecherous advances, Christine still
thought of herself as the mousy girl she was in high school,
before puberty. She was quite unaware of her own lush
sexuality, a naivete that made her all the more attractive.

So it was with her breasts looming in Mac's face that she
told him how angry Dan made her, how frustrated she was by
having to work next to him night after night.

And when she hooked a leg over the table while she went
on, she exposed a perfect thigh -- smooth, tanned,
exquisitely shaped. And yet she did it without intent.

But as Mac talked to her, counseling her, urging her not to
take Dan seriously, she became aware of her attraction to
him. Mac was a big, strapping hunk of a man, with a broad
chest and well-muscled brown arms. Without quite knowing
why, Christine began to wonder what it would be like to have
a man like Mac as her lover.

He was gentle, kind, polite -- all that she knew from
working with him. But was he also as strong as he looked?
Was he as big -- all over?

"So, Christine, you have to stop letting him get to you,"
Mac was concluding. "He's not going to change. And when you
try to argue with him, it just encourages him." He looked
Christine straight in the eyes. With a flush, she realized she
was getting wet -- down there.

Embarrassed by her reaction, Christine snatched up the
papers. "Thanks, Mac, I've..."

As she turned to go, her fumbling fingers dropped one of
the sheets. She stooped to pick it up at the same time Mac
got out of his chair to retrieve it. Their hands touched, his
arm brushing against her breast.

They froze for a moment.

"Here -- uh," Mac burbled as he clutched the paper, still
half bent over.

"I've got it, I --" Christine faltered.

They both rose, standing with their faces only inches
apart, Mac's dark visage bent to Christine's pale skin.

It seemed the most natural thing for Christine to put her
arms around his shoulders and lift her lips to his. Their
mouths touched, tentatively at first. Then hungrily, Mac's
arms enfolding Christine's petite body and pressing it to him.
She felt his probing tongue and met it with her own.

They kissed -- it seemed like forever to her. And then
they moved apart. Mac looked away, then down at his feet.
Christine didn't know what to say. She felt a little wobbly.
Her panties were soaked with secretions.

"Christine, I..." Mac began. And then she knew what to do.
Christine moved toward him, her arms curving around his
waist. Their lips met again, pressing together, mouths open,
devouring each other.

Mac's fingers moved to her silken blouse, fumbling at the
buttons until they popped loose. Christine shrugged off the
sleeves and unhooked her bra, letting it slip down and expose
the massive mounds capped with rosy circles and stiffening
little buds.

Mac took each in one of his large hands, palming them,
rubbing the sensitive nipples.

Christine tugged his sweater and shirt out of his
waistband and caressed his flat stomach.

They kissed again, greedily, so hard that flashing lights
danced before Christine's closed eyes.

And then Mac tore off his shirt and sweater and knelt
before her. Gently he unzipped her skirt and tugged it down,
then her pantyhose and panties. He put his face between her
pale thighs and approached her musky slit.

Christine held her breath as he approached. Mac kissed the
insides of her thighs, the small bush of yellow hair, licked at
the outer lips. She was going crazy. No man had ever been
willing to do this to her. What would -- Oh God! Now he
separated her labia with his fingers and slipped his hot
tongue inside. Fluids gushed out of her as Christine shivered
and shook to an instant orgasm. But Mac continued, teasing
her opening, tickling her clit, driving her to new heights.

It became too much. As she felt herself toppling to
another orgasm she pushed him away.

"I want you," she told him, her voice deep and husky with
lust. The thought of his cock inside her was all she could
focus on. She envisioned it large, but even so when it sprang
free as Mac peeled off his slacks she gasped. It was huge!
Eight inches of thick, dark rod, with a fat bulbous head
leering at her with its single eye. She spread her legs far
apart and lay back on the desk, shoving all the papers to the
floor.

"Put it in me, Mac," she begged, writhing beneath him,
caressing her own breasts.

"Here it comes," he said in his quiet voice. She felt the
head at her entrance and looked up. It was too big, she
thought, too big -- but then it was in her! And she felt her
walls giving way as Mac's massive shaft split her wide open.

It was a feeling unlike any before. Never had she felt so
filled, so sated. Mac fed his snake into her deeper, deeper. He
lifted her legs, holding them high. And then it was all the
way in. Christine shrieked with delight.

But the best was yet to come. Slowly, excruciatingly
slowly he moved his cock out of her, and then in. The
tantalizing rhythm kept her close to the edge but not over it.
Emotions flooded her brain. Her entire body seemed aboil.

"Fuck me, Mac!" Christine shouted, not knowing where the
words came from. "Fuck me with that big, black cock! Oh,
YES!"

Mac obliged, beginning to drive his rod into her faster, and
then still faster. Christine's body jerked and swayed under
the impacts, her breasts bobbing up and back as she slid on
the now sweat-slickened desk.

"Take it all, Christine," Mac urged her. "Let me feel it all
in you, girl."

"Yes, yes!" Christine felt a hot blast starting in her cunt
and spreading to every cell. "I'm cumming again," she shouted,
stunned by her body's reaction. "Oh, God, Mac, Oh, YYESSSSSS!"

The orgasm took control, sending tremors to every muscle.

And then Mac took two or three long, deep strokes. "I'm
gonna cum, Christine," he moaned. "I'm gonna
CCCUUMMMMMMM!"

She felt his hot jism blast into her as the thrashing
waves of her own orgasm receded.

Christine opened her eyes and looked deep into Mac's. What
she saw there made her mind reel. His thoughts were
unmistakable.

Without a word, Christine slid off the desk and embraced
the tall black man again, kissing him deeply. They held each
other close. And then she kissed her way down his chest until
she was kneeling before his sagging, shriveled cock. She
looked up at him, her eyes wide. Opening her mouth, she bent
and took him into her.

=== === === ===

Lost in their passion, Mac and Christine didn't hear the
door to the courtroom open behind Mac's desk, and they didn't
see Mac's wife, Quon Lee, take a step inside. Nor did they see
the look of shock on her face give way quickly to horror and
then a fierce anger.

The short Asian woman shuddered with rage. She was
jealous at even trivial things; this made her so mad that her
fists clenched into tiny balls, her nails digging red welts in
her palms. Her lips tightened to a thin, pale line. Her teeth
gritted together. She wanted to kill them, to hit them, to
stab them, to destroy them. She wanted to erase this scene
from the face of the Earth.

In a small corner of her mind, a shred of humanity hung on,
horrified by the vivid red anger flashing in the rest of her
brain. It pulled her back, back into the corridor. Somehow she
managed to close the door softly as she edged away.

Her mind was still whirling as she stepped back into the
middle of the long hall, not quite sure where she was. She
stared around blindly until her eyes fastened on a nameplate,
the one announcing the office of Judge Harry T. Stone.

Quon Lee took several deep breaths. The sight of Judge
Harry's office had somehow brought her back to reality. She
felt a bit more in control.

And then, through the heavy wooden door of the courtroom,
she heard Mac, her husband, shouting out Christine's name and
calling on her to suck his dick.

Feeling the anger stir within her again, Quon Lee forced
herself to run into the judge's office.

The lights were still on; that surprised her a bit. Then she
saw the judge lying down on the couch, just a few feet from
the door. Her mind grabbed at the hope that he would talk to
her, calm her down, somehow convince her that what she saw
wasn't really happening -- or, at least, keep her from killing
the only man she'd ever loved. At least that.

Quon Lee took a few steps toward him and noticed that the
judge's eyes were closed.

"Judge Harry?" she called softly. "Judge?"

He didn't stir.

The judge -- tall, sandy-haired, dressed now just in a
shirt, jeans and sneakers -- was sound asleep, Quon Lee
realized. She tip-toed up to him, just to make sure.

"Harry?"

Not a peep.

For a second she was crushed. No one to talk to! No one to
tell her troubles to! Now what would she do?

Unbidden, the picture came to her mind again of Christine
Sullivan, that beautiful naked white woman, deep-throating
her husband's big black dick.

But this time, while it made her angry, it also made her
hot. Quon Lee thought of Mac's monster, his big eight inches
cleaving her tight cunt, driving into her ...

And all the while she was looking down at Judge Stone.

Tentatively, hesitantly, Quon Lee reached down with one
well-manicured finger and touched his chest. Still no
movement. With her nail she traced down his chest to the
snap at the waistband of his jeans.

She glanced up at his face to be sure. Nothing. Her eyes
focused again on his crotch, Quon Lee undid the snap and
slowly slid open the zipper.

She paused then. She knew she was going to fuck the
judge, to show her husband two could play at that game, and
to slake her rising lust. But for a brief moment she thought
about backing away. But then what? Mac was probably still
getting a blow-job from Christine. Could she just wait
patiently in the hallway until he was done? No, she could not.

Could she go home? Pretend she had forgotten to pick him
up? Pretend this night never happened? No, the image burned
into her mind was too sharp.

And the other alternatives ... no. No, the only way she
could live with Mac after this -- the only way she could live
with herself -- was to do this, now, to make it tit for tat and
then move on.

Quon Lee stepped back from the couch and undid the
buttons down the front of her pink, flowered dress. It slid to
the floor and she stepped out, kicking off her shoes.

She had a small, almost boyish figure, with small breasts
and hips only slightly wider than her waist. As she pulled off
her bra and panties, she pictured Christine's lush body, the
huge, heaving breasts, the wide ass. Was that what Mac really
wanted? Was that what he dreamed about when he was
fucking her?

She squeezed her arms together and looked down. Even
then, her breasts were only small bulges. Quon Lee sighed.

But the fire in her loins was unabated. She bent down and
carefully parted the judge's pants at the zipper. Slowly, with
just her fingertips, she caressed his small cock through the
thin material of his briefs, checking again and again that he
was still asleep. Patiently she drew forth his manhood until
it was, at last, bulging hard, its tip beginning to poke out
underneath the elastic of the waistband.

While she stroked the judge's cock, Quon Lee's other hand
caressed her own sex, until it was hot and wet and ready. She
raised her hand to her face and sniffed, intoxicated with the
scent of her own liquor.

For one last moment she looked down at Judge Harry. Then,
in a rush of decision, the small Asian woman yanked down his
pants and briefs. Instantly his cock sprung free. At six or
seven inches, it was neither as long nor as large as Mac's, but
it would have to do. Without hesitation Quon Lee stepped onto
the couch, swung a leg over the judge's body and squatted
down. In an instant she grasped his cock, raised it to her
tunnel and drove it in.

She was so fast that Harry was still blinking his eyes
when his rod entered her.

"Quon Lee! Quon Lee?" He tried to rise, but with her sitting
on his waist he was pinned to the couch. "Quon Lee, what are
you doing?"

"I fucking you, Judge Harry," she said, simply. "Mac fuck
Christine, so I fuck you. Fair is fair." Already she was riding
him, her tight, slick cunt sliding up and down his rock-hard
pole.

"But, Quon Lee, I -- Mac fucking Christine? Really?"

"Really, Harry. I saw. In the courtroom."

"Christine? Are you sure?" But even as he asked, Harry
was beginning to respond to her motion, bucking his hips up
to piston his cock into her.

In reply, Quon Lee only speeded up her rhythm. Harry
couldn't quite fill her like Mac, but she took advantage of his
more convenient fit to show him a few tricks she couldn't do
with her husband, slipping his rod from side to side within
her.

Harry's hands lifted to her chest and rubbed her small
breasts. A familiar electric thrill went through her.

"You like my tits?" she asked, mischievously.

Harry managed to answer in between groans. "Yes, yes, oh,
God, Quon Lee!"

"You like to fuck me, I think," she said, grinding her cunt
to the base of his cock. "I like to fuck you, Judge Harry. I like
-- Oh! OH! OHHHHHHHH!"

A wild shiver turned her body to Jell-O and then returned,
and again. It was an orgasm like never before, and when it
was over she sank back down onto the judge's cock and let
herself fall onto his chest, her breath coming in heaving
gasps.

But in just a minute or two she felt his cock prodding her
again. She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. She
saw the lust there, and it stirred her own.

Slowly at first, savoring the pleasure of every inch, she
took him in, let him out. Quon Lee rose again to a sitting
position, feeling the fluids pour out of her and cover his
crotch. Harry drove his cock up, again, again, again! What he
lacked in size, she discovered to her delight, he more than
made up for in stamina. Her pussy quivered and shook with
his assault, and another orgasm left her breathless and
unable to support herself.

Still Harry was rock-hard within her. Quon Lee slid off
him and crawled onto her knees at the end of the couch,
presenting her ass to him as she slathered the puckered
brown hole with her own juices.

Harry entered her surely, sending his pole up her ass as
his fingers sought out her sopping wet cunt.

"Damn, Quon Lee," he gasped, "it's even tighter than your
cunt! Does it hurt?"

"No, Harry, no," she groaned. "Fuck it! Fuck me in the ass!"

He did, curling his long body over hers as he plunged into
her asshole. At last he began to moan, louder and louder, and
Quon Lee could feel him growing thicker, pushing her asshole
to the limit.

And then a hot burst inside her as he bellowed out, and
they collapsed onto the sweat-soaked cushions.

Quon Lee started when she heard the sound of applause.
She looked up. Mac and Christine were standing just inside
the door.

As she looked into her husband's eyes, she hated him no
longer.

    

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