Cromwell's Court Case


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 megadose 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 livingroom rug, which was as far as Shana could go before getting Cromwell stuffed into her.

They made it into bed eventually. Cromwell hoped the neighbours 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.




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 bodystocking "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 neighbourhood. 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 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 Counsellor, 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 garterbelt 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 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.

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