Cromwell's Court Case


It was enough to persuade Judge Harris. "I'll give you one more day," she told Parnell flatly. "Then this trial begins without further delay." She banged down her gavel and stomped out of the room.

"What do we do now?" Cromwell asked, as the courtroom emptied around them.

Penny leaned close to him. "Well, since I'm already wearing my fuck-me boots ," she said reasonably, "I think you should take me back to my place, and drill me silly with that *gorgeous* big peter of yours." She sighed in anticipation.

"But the trial begins tomorrow! Shouldn't we be planning strategy?"

"Oh ... sure. We'll do that, too."


It was near dinnertime when Cromwell finally made his way home. Penny left him with a long, deep kiss at her door, promising to spend the evening preparing his case. She was still wearing her boots, but she had pretty much lost everything else.

Cromwell was nervous about the case. He hoped he could sleep that night. It helped that his wife met him at the door with a warm kiss and his favorite drink. If she smelled another woman on him or was distressed about his late arrival, she failed to mention it The house was spotless. Dinner was delicious. Afterward, Shana brought him another drink.

She was dressed like a high-school cheerleader. She wore kneesocks, and there were little pom-poms on her gym shoes. He sipped his drink while she giggled giving him a long, satisfying backrub. Well, it began as a backrub. Cromwell hardly thought about the case at all that night.


"Penny, where is everybody?" whispered Cromwell, late the next morning. They were seated in the courtroom, waiting, along with Tawny's legal team and the rest of the court personnel, for the judge to arrive. Tawny wasn't there either. The junior lawyer on her side kept slipping out to make telephone calls. The older man looked irritated.

Penny said: "This is so unusual. Judge Harris runs a tight ship. She's never late." Penny had pinned her hair back in a long ponytail. Her gold silk blouse was as frilly as on the previous day. She was wearing a tight, wrap-around skirt of some stretchy material. The skirt ended well above the knee, but it was designed to flash a lot more leg every time she took a step. At least she had remembered to wear proper shoes today.

For someone who had stayed up most of the night working on his defense, Penny was in a remarkably good humor. She even offered Cromwell a little head, to calm him down before court. Cromwell declined politely. He didn't mention that he had already had two delightful bouts with his wife that morning. He had awakened to her invitation of a 69 and she had insisted on his banging her over a dining room chair "for luck" before she would let him out the door. Shana seemed to enjoy them as much as he did.

"I just want to get on with this," Cromwell grumbled.

"Oh, now you are nervous, aren't you sugar," Penny commiserated. "Here, let me help." She took his hand in hers and guided it to her lap. With her free hand she lifted the edge of her skirt a little and slid Cromwell's hand underneath.

"Penny, what are you --"

She smiled at him. "This way we can both relax. Here, up a little higher. Use your fingers. Oh, that's nice."

Cromwell looked around nervously. "Penny, we're in court for the lovagod, and you -- you're not wearing any --"

"They'd just get in your way," Penny whispered, guiding his hand.

Finally, Judge Harris walked into the courtroom. The judge was in much better spirits today. She didn't seem nearly as hurried. She strolled deliberately, almost lazily, to her place behind the bench, a peaceful smile playing on her features. She had changed her hairstyle. Her walk was different too. Cromwell only caught a glimpse as she walked by, but he could have sworn she was wearing spike heels.

"Good morning everybody," the judge said brightly. "Sorry I'm a bit tardy. Couldn't be helped. Are we ready to proceed?" Penny had released Cromwell's hand when she stood for the judge, but the moment she sat down she pulled it back again. Judge Harris waved a hand at Tawny's attorney. "Counselor, where is the plaintiff?"

"Your Honor, my client has not yet arrived in court, and as yet we have been unable to locate her. I suggest we recess until --"

"I suggest you find her," the judge cut him off. "Maybe she went home to mother." The few spectators tittered.

"Uh, no, apparently not, Your Honor, she isn't at home or at work or at the home of any known relatives. I think perhaps she just has a case of courtroom jitters."

"What does this mean?" Cromwell whispered to his lawyer.

"It means they're screwed," she answered, still guiding his fingers. "Oh, you're making me so wet." She squirmed in her chair.

Judge Harris said: "It is a principle of fundamental justice that the accused has a right to face his accuser. I am not prepared to proceed with this trial until Ms. Sleikbody is in the room." She tapped her fingernails on the benchtop. They were painted bright red.

The lawyer began treading water. "Uh, in that case, Your Honor, I see no recourse but, uhm, to request a brief continuance, to give us time to, uh, locate my client."

The judge was not sympathetic. "Counselor," she said coolly, "yesterday it was you who would brook no delays in bringing this case to trial. It was you who argued so passionately that any delay was a denial of justice to your client. Well, that sword cuts both ways. If a delay is unacceptable to the complainant, it is equally unacceptable to the defendant. This poor man" -- she paused here to give Cromwell a protective smile -- "has been pestered enough by these unproved accusations. I will not tolerate any further harassment."

"But Your Honor, if we could just have --"

"Oh be quiet. The case is dismissed." She banged the gavel over the lawyer's shocked protests. She winked at Cromwell.

"Yes!" Penny enthused. "Oh yes, Yes, YES!" Her eyes were half closed. Cromwell wasn't sure if she was responding to the judge's decision or to the action of his fingers in her pussy. He felt it clinch before groaning and bathing his hand with girl juice.

"What does this mean?" Cromwell asked. "Am I clear?"

Penny didn't answer until her breathing was more normal. "Oh, they could, mmmmm, still pursue the, oohhhh my, criminal case, I suppose," Penny responded, thrusting her hips below the table, clearly going for round two, "but it has, has, oh yes right there, no hope of suc -succeeding after summmmmmary dismissal of the, oh, yes, oh, civillll suit. God, I think I'm about to commmme!" Without dislodging his questing fingers, she turned toward him, throwing one leg over his lap. She clenched her teeth and shuddered through a second orgasm right there in the courtroom.

"Oh, my word that turned out nicely," Penny sighed, when she could breath again. She licked Cromwell's ear. Then she buried his lips in a long, hot victory kiss. "Let's go some place and celebrate!"


Cromwell was in such a good mood the next morning that he was almost whistling. After an afternoon of mostly horizontal celebration with Penny, he had taken Shana out for dinner and dancing, something she hadn't been willing to do for years. His wife shared his excitement that the charges against him had been dropped, although she didn't seem very interested in what those charges had been. She was too busy trying to grope him on the dance floor, notwithstanding the stares that a woman in an extremely short skirt, skyscraper heels, an almost transparent blouse and no panties attracted. Where the Hell had she learned the lambada?


The chill in the office was replaced by warm acceptance. Everyone told him how relieved they were that his ordeal was over. Colleagues became friends again. One of them directed him toward the bulletin board, where he found a full-page retraction and abject apology from Tawny. She had posted the same message to everybody's e-mail, just to be sure.

Cromwell walked into his office. A scorchingly sexy young woman was lying on top of his desk, like a centrefold model posing for a photoshoot. "Ga!" said Cromwell.

It was Tawny.

"Good morning Mr. Cromwell," Tawny said in a little-girl voice. His former secretary was wearing a tight-fitting, leopard-pattern minidress so short it made her regular minis look prudish. The dress was low-cut across the bodice to reveal the top third her proud young breasts, so perfect and round they almost looked polished. Sleek, dark nylons graced her legs, capped off with tight, over-the-knee boots patterned in the same leopard-skin motif as the dress.

"Ga!" said Cromwell again. "I mean, T-Tawny. What are you doing here?"

Tawny was lying across the desk with her legs bent and her head elevated so her thick brown hair tumbled down. "I came back to apologize," she said contritely, "for everything. For everything I've done to you. I've been *sooo* bad. I guess I should be spanked." She swung her legs around and got to her feet gracefully, despite the challenging high heels on her animal-skin boots. "I'm sorry Mr. Cromwell, I really am. Please, can you ever forgive me?"

"Tawny, what are you talking about?" He struggled to avoid staring at her legs. He failed completely.

"It, it wasn't my idea, not at first," Tawny replied. "It was Klara." She referred to another office lovely, the one who had held the video camera. "S-she said that you were always, like looking at her, and flirting, and saying things, like you did with me, and, and if we made sure you had lots to drink at the party and kind of goaded you a bit, we could get it all on tape and, well, she said kind of get even and maybe get some money too." Tears threatened her mascara. "Oh, I don't know why I went along with it. I-I mean you've been so g-good to me, and, and you're such a wonderful man to work for, I was the luckiest girl in the world, and now I've gone and ruined it." She stood forlornly in the middle of his office, looking marvelous and miserable.

Cromwell said, "Tawny, it's over now. The case was dismissed." Her tight dress stopped a few inches past the curve of her bottom. Just looking at her legs was a sexual experience.

"Please, Mr. Cromwell, there's one more thing. I, I know I don't deserve it, and I won't complain if you say no, but, but, could I, maybe . . ." She hesitated, then blurted: "Could you give me my.. my old job back?" Her voice broke into sobbing.

This caught Cromwell by surprise. "You want to work as my secretary?"

She took a step toward him, hands clasped. "Oh yes, please, please, please. Let me be your secretary again, please Mr. Cromwell. I'll do a really super job, I promise. I'll take a big pay cut if you want. I'll make it up to you for what I've done. Just give me another chance, please?" She looked up at him tearfully. Cromwell felt his underwear stiffen.

"Well, I don't know, after all that..." Cromwell demurred.

"Please, Mr. Cromwell," Tawny gushed. "Let me be your secretary. I'll do anything if you'll let me work for you again." She stepped up close and slid her arms around his neck. She wore leopard- pattern gloves that came up past the elbow. "Please?"

Cromwell found himself speechless. Standing this close to her, with her dewy eyes gazing into his, he could smell a delicate perfume floating up from the deep shadows of her cleavage. He opened his mouth to say something. Tawny kissed him, suddenly, tenderly, as if taken by an impulse she couldn't resist.

"Please give me just one more chance," she whispered, her lips an inch from his. "I'll do lots more than just type." She kissed him again. "Look, let me show you how I'll take care of you." She was already sliding down, using his body for support as she sank gracefully to her boot-covered knees on the carpet. Cromwell just stared in amazement as his former secretary unzipped his pants, then reached in with a gloved hand to free his maleness. He was hard already.

"Mmmmm, yummy," Tawny whispered. She cupped him in one hand, lifting his rod like an offering toward her waiting mouth. She slid her crimson lips over him, somehow taking inch after inch of his cock into her mouth until her throat began to bulge. When had she learned how to do that?

Cromwell was beyond caring. He gasped in delight as her mouth and tongue worked magic. He glanced at the clock on his desk; it was not yet nine-thirty in the morning, yet Cromwell was receiving his second masterful blowjob of the day. As Tawny's head began to bob rhythmically up and down his shaft, he had already decided to take pity on the girl. In gratitude, she swallowed every drop.


"Of course I will. Thank you, R. J." Cromwell put down the telephone and announced: "It's official. From the first of next month I'm the newest vice-president."

From her place behind his chair, Tawny squealed with delight. "Oh, Crommie, that's wonderful!" She was dressed in one of her office outfits, a bright silver microskirt coupled with a tight black sweater and tight black boots. She was standing behind Cromwell's high-backed chair, massaging his shoulders while he worked.

Cromwell put his feet up on the desk and contemplated how much life had improved in the last several months. His legal difficulties were almost forgotten. At home he had a loyal and insanely passionate wife so far removed from the cold demanding bitch she had been that they might have been two different species. After years of refusal even to discuss it, one night after some wine and an especially good fuck, *she* had brought up the question of children. Not IF, but how many she would give him. Cromwell had talked her down to four, but suspected Shana was planning for several extra "accidents." After all, she had informed him she was already pregnant with twins the night she broached the subject. She confessed to switching from birth control to fertility pills some months ago without telling him. His sexy wife's eagerness to make babies with him, and her newly kinky imagination both in bed and out, still amazed him. As Cromwell knowingly fucked his wife's pregnant pussy for the first time, she giggled that once her tummy began to swell with his baby, she'd REALLY be hot.

In the office he had a sex fantasy for a secretary and a sharp young lawyer who insisted on doing all his legal work pro bono. He grinned. Pro "boner" would be more accurate. It was the least she could do, he reflected, for the man who had put that delightful little bulge in her tummy.

They had done it: that man in the club, the sweet voice on the telephone. He had no idea how they had done whatever they did, but the result was certainly satisfactory. More than satisfactory. Maybe he should let them know.

"Tawny, hand me the card file, will you." he said absently. Cromwell could have reached it himself, but Tawny's locomotion was always worth experiencing.

"Sure, Crommie" she replied. She wiggled around to retrieve the card file off the front of the desk. The little metallic skirt shimmered with the sway of her spreading hips. Cromwell admired the slender perfection of her legs, displayed so fetchingly by sheer nylons and stretch boots. The only condition Cromwell had imposed in return for her job was that Tawny dress to show off those marvelous legs. Her compliance exceeded even Cromwell's expectations. Her milk-swollen tits jiggled delightfully as she handed him the card file.

Now, where was that card? As he flipped through the file Tawny sat on the desk and casually crossed her knees. The micro-miniskirt hiked up around her thighs. Cromwell was distracted. She had done the same thing yesterday, and ended up with her back on the desk and her high-heeled sandals pointing at the ceiling. He wondered how long into her pregnancy she could keep that up?

That sort of thing took Tawny's time away from her regular secretarial duties, but Cromwell wasn't concerned. Klara, Tawny's co-conspirator in the assault case, had happily volunteered to take over any extra work, in addition to her regular job. She was in the outer office at that moment, all business, catching up on correspondence. But Cromwell had the suspicion that if Klara could ever pry him away from Tawny long enough, she would like to give him a nice, "Can-you-forgive-me?" fuck. Perhaps he would show her there were no hard feeling with her own "All-is-forgiven" baby.

This change in attitude appeared just after Klara disappeared for two days without explanation. She worked diligently now, only stopping every fifteen minutes or so to check her make-up. The third witness to Cromwell's indiscretion at the party had started wearing fishnet nylons to work. Since she began to show, she brought Cromwell fresh flowers and coffee every morning.

At last Cromwell found the card the man had given him. He flipped it over. The card was completely blank. If he looked very closely, Cromwell could make out the outline of one digit of the telephone number that hadn't yet faded away completely.

Cromwell chuckled. He tossed the card in the wastebasket. He looked at Tawny, preggy, leggy and luscious, posing like a pin-up girl on his desk. He cocked a finger at her. Smiling, she slipped off the desk and into his lap. "Let's celebrate, Mr. Vice-President," she cooed.


At that same moment, in another part of the city, a man about Cromwell's age was standing on a driving range. He had been there for some time. He was hitting golf balls everywhere, driving with far more energy than accuracy. His mind wasn't on his swing.

"Mr. Samson," said the man beside him suddenly, "suppose I were to tell you that divorce is not inevitable." He hit his ball cleanly and knocked it for a long drive. He watched it fall thoughtfully. "Suppose I were to tell you that not only would your wife forgive you for knocking up your mistress, she'd let you make her pregnant again, too?" He paused to tee up another ball. He was tall and wore glasses. "And that even your wife's sister could be persuaded to reverse the rather rude rebuff she gave you at last year's Christmas party. Wouldn't she look cute in maternity dresses?"

He leaned on his golf club and regarded the other man calmly. "Would that be worth something to you, Mr. Samson?"


"Judge Harris? Of course. Put her through, Karla," Cromwell replied trying to calm his breathing as Tawny's sat astride him, thrusting herself busily on his manhood. Her recent return from maternity leave found her as ardent as ever and, it appeared, eager to start on another. The timing wasn't bad as Klara would be delivering quite soon and Penny had just announced she was expecting again.


"Margaret! So good to hear from you. It's been a while."


"Huh? So soon after the twins? Why that's wonderful news!"


"This one, too? Oh, Margaret, you devious girl. So that's the reason you said I needn't use a condom all that weekend at the hotel! And you swore up and down you'd gone on the Pill! Tsk tsk!," Cromwell chuckled. "Next April, eh?"


"Well of course I think we should celebrate. I'll drop by the courthouse around four."


"Sorry, no sooner, baby. I'm, uh, deep into something right now." The spasms of Tawny's climaxing pussy had him on the brink of an inopportune orgasm. "I understand sweetheart, I'll come as soon as I can." (Tawny would see to that, he thought.) "But you'll just have to make do with the vibrator until then."


"You have? Why, sure. I think Oliver would be a very appropriate name."

The End

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