Amy's Courtroom Debut

Jess did as she was told. After a minute more of fiddling, Amy's round ass was tightly packed into a black pencil skirt that was several sizes too small.

"Alright. Now just stay right here and DON'T TELL ANYONE about anything that's happened today. Or ANYTHING you saw. ANYTHING."

"Alright Ms. Brown!" said Jess, and if Amy didn't know better she would have sworn she saw a sly smirk creep into the edges of Jess's lips.

Amy was off again. This time she took Maiden Lane to Broadway, then headed up Broadway. As she passed Fulton street she looked to her right and shot a nasty look at the construction crew that had further ruined her day a short time before.

This time, Amy's killing look did seem to have an effect. At the exact moment she leveled her malevolent gaze at the crew, a gasket burst, sending a blast of steam shooting through the pipes toward Broadway. Fortunately, the steam found release at a steam vent on the corner of Broadway and Fulton.

"GYAAAAAAAAAH!"

Amy happened to be passing over the vent just as the steam blasted out. Hot steam rushed upward past her for a full thirty seconds before dying out, with the center of strength shooting up her skirt and further punishing her already sensitive rear.

When the steam died down, Amy was soaked from head to toe. Her hair hung in a soggy mess around her shoulders. Her make-up ran down her face. Her blouse clung to her body even more tightly and, underneath the jacket, had burst a couple more buttons. Her tiny skirt somehow managed to grow even more tiny as the zipper trembled under the pressure.

"Grrrrrrrr." Amy was beyond coherent thought. All she knew was that someone would pay for this day, eventually, but that for now all she had to do was get to court. She stomped up Broadway, shoving people out of her way as she went, and everyone stopped to stare at the angry, wet beer wench moving northward with such determination.

Amy arrived at the Federal building and headed straight for the employee's entrance. She was greeted by a wide-eyed security guard.

"Ummm, I need to see some ID."

Amy was now at court. She would need to collect herself, put her struggles behind her, and present herself courteously and professionally. There was no better time to start than with this security guard.

"Of course! Just a moment..."

Amy patted the breast pocket of her jacket, only to realize that this breast pocket was attached to a jacket that did not belong to her. Amy had left her ID in the torn remains of her old jacket.

"Oh! Umm... I seem to have forgotten it. Is there any way you could see to letting me through without, just this once?"

"Sorry, ma'am. Only Federal employees with IDs at this entrance. If you want in you'll have to go in through the public entrance, around the corner."

"Look, you've seen me before, you know who I am. Nobody will know, just let me in!"

"No ID, you have to go through the public entrance. The rules apply to everyone, ma'am, including you."

Amy gritted her teeth and stomped off to the public entrance. Getting in through the employee's entrance meant skipping the security screening and going right up to the court room. Going to the public entrance meant going through security, which would be ungodly slow. The Federal building where the Tax Court held session also held INS offices, which meant a steady stream of people with minimal grasp of English clogging up the security gates with their failure to understand simple instructions. The line to get in was around the block.

Amy went to the back of the line and waited impatiently. She checked her watch. 9:40. The line barely moved. At 9:45 she had had enough. She got out of line and barged to the front.

"Miss, you have to wait your turn like everyone else."

"Look, you chair warmer. I'm a federal employee. I'm going to the Tax Court. I have a case to put on in fifteen minutes. I need to get through security right now."

"You'll need a federal ID."

"AGGGH. Wait. I do have AN ID. It's not mine, but it's an ID. Here." Amy handed the guard Jess's ID, which she had found in the jacket's pocket.

"Well, this clearly isn't you."

"I know it's not me. I left my jacket with my ID at the office. I borrowed someone else's jacket. This is her ID."

"The way I see it, there's two possibilities. Either you are a federal employee and you did borrow someone else's jacket, or you're a terrorist who jumped a federal employee and stole her ID."

"That's preposterous!"

"Well, let's just call the number on this card and see if this Jessica Barkely will confirm your story."

"Yes! Do that! She'll back me up one hundred percent!" Finally, Amy could count on Jess's boundless loyalty to pay off. The security guard went in back to place the call, while Amy waited at the gate, tapping her foot. She looked down and noticed that she was still wearing sneakers; she must have gotten flustered when Jess helped her with her skirt and forgotten to change shoes. "Nuts!"

The security guard returned, a smirk on his face. "Well, there wasn't an answer at that number. So either Ms. Barkely stepped away from her desk, or she's tied up in some closet somewhere.

"Oh! Right! She's in my office! Why don't I give you my number and you can call her."

"I can't just call some number you give me! Probably one of your terrorist co-conspirators will answer and tell me everything you want me to hear. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll put you through security now, but you'll have to go through special screening."

"... What kind of special screening."

"The kind where you get through faster than if you wait at the back of that long-ass line."

"Fair enough," Amy growled through clenched teeth.

Amy was taken out into an open area next to the gates, where the guard began patting her down rather forcefully.

"Hey! Don't you have a back room for this sort of thing?"

"Closed for renovations. Now stand still."

The guard's hands ran down Amy's soaking sides, then cupped around her buttocks and gave a firm pinch. Amy hopped forward. "Ouch!"

"Whatsa matter, baby? You packing something back there," at this the guard rand his hand along Amy's backside. "I mean, aside from the obvious."

Amy couldn't take it anymore. "I'll bet you're loving this!" she spat. "I'll bet you do this to every beautiful woman who comes through the line! You must love coming to work every day! Each dawn the beginning of another golden opportunity to satisfy your perverted libido!"

"Look, you get the same treatment every other suspected terrorist does. Oh, and speaking of, I hear they just apprehended a guy in Philly trying to blow up Lincoln Field with a bomb sown into his jacket lining, so we're confiscating all jackets."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Look! People are walking through with jackets left and right!"

"But they're not suspected terrorists, are they? Now, do you want to take your jacket off, or would you rather I did?"

Amy practically ripped her jacket buttons open, tore the jacket off, and threw it in the guard's face.

"Now now, ma'am, just doing my job. If you could turn around and place your hand behind your head, we can proceed."

Amy shot him another of her killing looks, then complied with his order. The guard seemed to take a strange interest in her waist, playing for a few seconds with something in the back of her skirt, but Amy decided that being belligerent wasn't getting her into the building any faster, so she kept quiet.

"There now, all clear. You're free to go now."

"About darn time!" shouted Amy with a huff. She spun around and, as she started to walk away, the guard gave her a firm pat on the ass.

"Have a nice day!"

Amy hopped forward again. This time, though, the pain in her posterior was counterbalanced by a strange... relief? As though something were loosening. As she started to look down to inspect her clothes, she caught a glance of a large clock in the entrance hall. 10:15.

"Oh, no!" Forgetting the incident at security, Amy ran as fast as she was able to the escalator, up the escalator, and down the hall toward the courtroom. Her manager was waiting outside with a scowl on his face. When he saw her he began shouting.

"Where the hell have you been?! You're fifteen minutes late!!! You NEVER keep a judge waiting!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"And what the hell are you wearing?! No suit, you're falling out of your shirt, a skirt made for a preschooler, and are those sneakers?!?!

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize to me, get in there and apologize to the judge!"

Amy slammed open both doors to the court. The benches of the gallery were packed. On the right side, her entire office had shown up to see the whiz kid shine (or, as was more likely the case, in the hopes that she might fail). On the left side, a gaggle of attorneys from the Tax Court bar. And in front, some reporters with cameras. Just then, Amy remembered that her parents had pulled some strings at the New York Times to get some reporters at her first trial. Granted, it was the society page, but publicity was publicity. The petitioner stood ready at the petitioner's table, the judge sat presiding over the courtroom, tapping his finger impatiently.

The assembled crowd turned to look at the woman who had just entered. She had wet brown hair matted sloppily around her shoulders, makeup streaking down her face, and was wearing a soaking pink shirt now fully opened, exposing a white silk strapless bra with pink lace trim, a tight black skirt that seemed to be painted onto her hips, and a pair of beat up, soggy grey sneakers. The sound of barely stiffled giggles rose from the IRS side of the gallery.

"I'm sorry your honor I just ran into some trouble getting to the courtroom your honor and if your honor would just let me explain your honor I think you'll see that-" Amy spat the words out a mile a minute as she rushed to the bar separating the gallery from the courtroom properly, pulled back the gate, and walked through.

Here is what Amy experienced in the next few moments. She felt a strong blow to her butt, the momentum of which, coupled with the pain it caused, leading her to let out a shriek and arch her back. She heard a weird popping noise and felt a loosening about the chest. Still reeling from the blow, she took a few steps forward. These steps were abruptly halted when her ankles refused to move forward, leading Amy to trip. Amy's arms were still behind her from opening the gate. As she fell, the sogginess around her arms and shoulders from her skirt abruptly ceased. Amy landed flat on her face, her back end thrust into the air.

Here is what Amy's audience saw. Amy pulled back the gate, stepped through, and let go. Having never been to court before, Amy did not know that the gate was spring-loaded and that the springs were far too tight for their intended purpose. The gate shot back, hitting Amy in the ass. Amy arched her back. Now, Amy had always been secretly ashamed of her breasts, which she considered too large for a smart girl like her. This led her to by brassieres that were both too tight and ill-suited for her bust. The front-clasp strapless bra she was wearing was inadequate for her breasts to begin with, particularly after being steam-soaked. Arching her back was the last straw. The front clasp came undone, and Amy's bra went flying across the room, freeing Amy's large, perky breasts to jiggle in a most unprofessional manner. Meanwhile, Amy's skirt slid down to her ankles. The security guard, while playing with her skirt, had yanked off the zip portion of the zipper, leaving the two unsupported treads to hold Amy's skirt together. The treads had gradually come undone as Amy ran to the courtroom, but the whack from the gate had pushed the treads over the edge. Once her skirt was around her ankles, Amy tripped forward, her wet shirt flying off as she did so, and Amy wound up on the ground, with her ass in the air, showing those assembled in the courtroom her underwear, a pair of beat-up white panties printed with red hearts, bearing numerous holes throughout and several dubious stains.

Amy lay on the floor for a second, dazed. The dense fog that occupied her mind was cleared out as stunned silence turned to snickers, then built to uproarious laughter. Amy quickly put together what had happened, and as the realization dawned on her her face began to glow as red as the hearts that adorned her undies. These were Amy's lucky panties. While not generally a superstitious sort, Amy allowed herself this one indulgence. She had received the panties as a gift in High School and had worn them when she took the SATs, the LSATs, and every test in college and law school. She had worn them at every job interview, at her first day of work, and, of course, on her first day in court. Now she lay prostrate before the court clad only in her lucky panties and her old tennis shoes. A camera bulb behind her flashed and she winced; she could only hope, now, that the story of her courtroom debut would be buried at the back of the society page and not, as she now expected, blared across the paper's front page.

"Ms. Brown!" bellowed the judge. "I have never seen such a spectacle in my court room! You are clearly unable to try this case in your present state. I will now continue this case on my own motion. Ms. Brown, you are hereby ordered, within five days, to show cause why you should not be subject to disciplinary action as a result of this display, up to and including permanent disbarment!"

Amy struggled to her feet, composing an eloquent response in your head.

"Your honor, if you will permit me to explain, I believe that you will see that, not only is my present state of undress not my fault, but that I am more than capable of trying this case even in my underwear and sneakers." Amy was now on her feet, preparing to launch into her opening argument. "Now, if I may turn your attention to the matter at hand..." Amy had begun walking around the courtroom in the way she had practiced at home. Unfortunately, she stepped right on her sopping-wet blouse, causing her leg to slide out from under her. Her hands flew in the air as she fell backwards, one of the holes in her panties catching on the top of the chair at counsel's table. RIIIIIIIP! Amy left the remains of her lucky panties to hang from the back of the chair as she continued her journey downward. On the way, her head slammed into the table, knocking her unconscious.

Amy's courtroom debut ended with her splayed on the floor of the courtroom, wet and unconscious, naked but for a pair of old tennis shoes.

"The court is now adjourned!"