Silky Adventures #15byOneSilky©
#15 Silky goes to Court.
I Love George. I really do. He is my 'uncle'/'father'/'lover' and I live with him and Jessica, my 'sister'/'lover.' We are a special family. We both do what George tells us to do. (He whips us if we don't - and sometimes when we do.) So he decides when we wear panties, who we fuck, and stuff like that. But sometimes he thinks up strange shit.
Like the "Whiskey Dance." In it, I strip and then take a bottle of 21 year old single malt scotch (The stuff is older than I am) and pour it slowly over my body. Sometimes I squat over a bowl, and let it dribble through my pussy. I think that looks like I'm urinating. Sometimes I point a toe in someone's face and pour it down my leg. I even bend over and let the fiery amber drip from my nipples, including the little silver pin in my left one (that I got in Italy) into eager mouths.
George likes to use Jess and me as favors for friends. We are not whores, and never will be. No one can buy sex with us. But George can give it away, if he wants to. Sometimes it's just a BJ, sometimes it's a threesome with both of us, and occasionally I just dance naked.
This night I was just dancing for this old bald guy who probably couldn't get it up, but who appreciated a lovely lithe body with carmine hair and also liked pre-poured scotch. It's hard to line up your labia so the elixir pours straight, thus he had a good time. But I had an exam the next day.
"But George, I have an exam. Puh-lease, can't Jessie dance for him, or move it to tomorrow?"
"Sorry Silk, this is one of those red head solos, and it's the old man's birthday. But don't think you can use this as an excuse for making a bad grade."
I already knew about making unacceptable grades. Anything less than an A got us flogged with a riding crop. And talking back got more.
That's why I was driving home alone late at night in a hurry. And the damn blue lights popped up behind me!
"Excuse me, Miss, may I see your license & registration?"
"Sorry. I don't have them; I was at a birthday party and didn't take my purse."
"At a party? Have you been drinking, ma'am?"
"Drinking? Yuck! No, I don't drink. Why would you ask me such a dumb question? Oh, you can smell the scotch. I didn't drink that. It's just where I like poured it on my naked body. But I don't drink. I don't take drugs, either. Some people think I'm like on speed, but I'm not, I'm just like naturally high. Actually I do take speed, but it's like prescribed speed because of my built in speed, so the one speed slows the other speed down."
I was just a teeny bit nervous.
"But I don't drink, ever. But I do this dance where I like pour whiskey all over my body, and guys like lick it off. Sometimes they lick me off, too, but not tonight. Because he was like old. Well, he still IS old, I guess. I mean, I didn't like KILL him or anything. At least I don't think I did, but he was having trouble breathing..."
"Ma'am, I don't need to know all of that. But you don't have your license, correct? And you have been using alcohol?"
"I haven't been using anything! I already told you, I was just like dancing. That's why I don't like have my stupid license!" Being a red head makes me fire up fast.
"Are you aware that you were speeding?"
"I was NOT speeding. I already told you, I don't like do speed. Except when my doctor like tells me to. My psychiatrist....But I'm not like crazy or anything, I just take speed; not speed, but medicine speed."
"You were driving too fast, ma'am."
"Well I don't know that it was too fast. If it was like that fast I'd already be home, wouldn't I? So it can't have been TOO fast."
"The speed limit is 45 here ma'am. You were doing 60."
"It's 45 in the day time, for Heaven's sake. This late at night they like let you go as fast as you need, which is what I'm doing, because I'm like in a big hurry. So if you would just do whatever you like need to do, and get out of my way, we can all like be home a lot quicker."
"Ma'am, 'they' would be me, and the speed limit stays the same, day and night."
"So ok, will you just like get a move on, give me a ticket, what ever, I've got to hustle!" This was getting nowhere.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."
"I can't do that!"
"And why not, ma'am?"
"Because I don't have any clothes on under this coat!"
So that's why I wound up walking a line on the side of the road naked at 2 am (Apparently the Law requires that officers be able to see your legs. Even if that means all of your legs- and arms, and butt, and everything!) I had my hair up in these like pony tails on either side of my head. I had these gianormous pink bows on them, they make me look smaller than my 5' size. I also had on my 4" pink heels to match.
Some people think pink looks bad with red hair, but with the right shade, it looks good. I should know, I spent like 8 hours looking at ribbons to get these. And the heels match perfectly. I can't really walk in these heels, let alone dance. You would think men would understand that, but no! They like me wobbling around. But the cop did not.
"Ma'am, you can't pass the field sobriety test. I may have to take you in."
"But I've got to go home. My daddy will whip me if I don't do well on the exam that I have to take in like 8 hours."
I cried so hard I melted my make-up. I was hoping that 'luck' and 'magic' would save me - that's my left and right breasts.
"I'll do ANYTHING if you'll just let me go home! ANYTHING! I promise I won't drive fast at all. Puh-lease let me go."
So what do you think happened?
The mean bastard gave me like a dozen tickets! Ha! Wreckless driving. I thought that was the whole point! Speeding. How many times did I explain that I was not on speed! Failing a field sobriety test! I'd like to see HIM walk a line in 4" pink heels! Ha! George would whip me so much I couldn't sit for like a year if I showed those to him. We never lie, but sometimes we don't bring up every subject.
So to defend myself, I had to go to Court. I dressed in my best black suit, and the 3" black heels that I can actually walk in. I wore conservative eye shadow, and my hair was degage. I wore the wide white leather belt, the one with the big buckle? With my emerald chip studs I looked like a lawyer. Which is why when they were all rambling around waiting for the Judge I kinda got in with the wrong crowd.
Well, what was I to do? The criminals were all over there in orange jump suits. Do you know how bad orange clashes with red hair? And there was a line about a gazillion miles long of 'perps' (I watch CSI) who wore tee shirts with Budweiser logos and marijuana leaves on them. To talk to a Judge about their DUIs. (Even for me, duh!) So I couldn't like stand with them, I had to go somewhere, so I sorta sat with the attorneys. I figured I could get in front of the line that way. Wrong!
Apparently they were doing some sentencing stuff, because the Judge, when he finally got there, started reading off names and punishments and then inmates would be hauled off. He was all serious and stuff and he looked like President Bush; or Obama, I'm not so good with politics, anyway he looked like someone famous.
So there was this huge deaf guy, and they had a signer, which was cool, because I never saw anyone talk with their hands before. Except Jess, she talks with her hands; she can't say anything without waving her arms around. If she broke her arms she'd be mute. She talks really fast sometimes, and then it's like Katie bar the door. I don't know why Katie.... Anyway....
What happened was they told this deaf guy something he apparently didn't like, and he tried to hit this lady, and three bailiffs grabbed him, but they all fell in a pile, and they fell onto the lawyers, and they fell on....me! I was under this big bale of barristers; somebody copped a feel, and my heel broke. It was absolute chaos!
"Miss, you're not a lawyer, are you?" The deputy who pulled the last of the heap off me asked me as he helped me upright.
"No. Do I LOOK like a lawyer?" I was kinda ornery, what with the mountain that I had been under.
"The Judge wants to see you, ma'am. In his Chambers." That sounds like a torture room, but it's not; more like an office. Or so I thought.
When I went in there, the Judge had his big robe hung on a hanger, and he took off his toupee. It was the Whiskey Dance man! The Birthday Boy!
"Well, Silky, it seems you've gotten in some trouble."
"It wasn't my fault! I was just in a hurry because I had to take an exam and I was late because I was dancing and the officer misunderstood me."
"Well, I think we can clear it up. But I need to touch you a little."
Now I'm not stupid. I already know that no guy except George ever touches you a little. They may say vellicate but they mean impale.
"I have to tinkle first."
"No problem, I have a toilet right here." He led me to the door, but stood with it open.
"Uh, I can take care of things from here....Sir."
"No, I'm going to watch. And touch you while you empty." Now that's just nasty! No wonder he liked the whiskey dance!
I worked up my valor and slipped off my britches. I sat down on the seat, and he stuck his boney old fingers in the pie. My pie. My little red pussy. He shoved two members inside me while I peed. It took some effort on my part, as micturation is not easily achieved while being pummeled with a paw. I finally started a flow that became a torrent as I relaxed my sphincters.
I believe that when you are wrong, you should say so. I try to. So I'll say I was wrong. I had said he "probably couldn't get it up." I was wrong. The Judge could get one up, a really quite nice one, to tell the truth. He was wanking himself hard while he fucked me with his hand, slithering into my vermilion slot. His bones might be arthritic, but his bone was steel. The knot at the end of his cylinder was a glowing, gleaming heliotrope, as large as any I've seen. His motion bounced me so that my nipple piercing caught in the cloth of my bra; that in itself was not unpleasant. His fingering was.
Then he diverted my urine flow (and my concentration) with his thumb! Piss sprayed everywhere as he stemmed the tide at my urethra. My thigh highs turned sepia, with yellowed vines entwining in rivulets down my legs. His sleeves sagged under the wetness, and a saffron sheen dripped from his bifocals. This was that for which he thirsted, as his conduit vomited his dishwater into my hair. MY HAIR!
"Silky, Silky, Silky! My God, that was good! I believe your little legal issues will disappear. But maybe this should stay between us. George doesn't need to know, you think?"
"Not from me... don't worry about that. Just get me a cab and show me the back way out."