by Marc Tremaine
WARNING: This story is a product of imagination; it is not a depiction of real life. It involves sexual acts between two or more males of the human species. If you are offended by that idea or its explicit description, regardless of whether it is the act that offends you, or the age or relationship of the participants, don't read this story. If writing about any type of sex between males is illegal in your nation, or in your particular municipality, county, state, province, or other political subdivision, don't read this story. If your age makes it illegal to read this story, don't read this story.
Copyright (c) 1998 by Two Voices, Ltd. All rights reserved. You have the right to download this story to keep on your computer, and to print a hard copy if you preserve the title, warning and copyright notice. You do not have the right to otherwise reproduce or repost this story. You do not have the right to rewrite this story. You do not have the right to use this story to make any amount of money for yourself or anyone else. If you do not understand these rights as I have listed them for you, my address is above: ask before acting.
God! but I love old courthouses. There's absolutely incredible beauty to be found in the brick and stone designs in rural America, where the courthouse is at the center of the town square, and there's usually a one-way street that goes around it, with shops and law offices, and yes, empty windows as well, watching the four entrances to see what goes on. It's...interesting...to say the least to walk up to the courtroom on the third floor on marble steps that have been worn away by hundreds of thousands of feet until there's a sag in the middle of each one like someone was only able to scoop out a thin layer of really hard ice cream.
Just imagine the ordinary citizens, the just plain folks, who had walked up these steps...to pay a traffic ticket, record a deed, get a marriage license, to get a divorce, accuse your neighbor of letting his cows run loose in your pasture, to pay your taxes, register to vote, to sue because you slipped and fell on the slick wooden floors of the five-and-dime (the floors you walked on since you were five and you knew damned well were slick) and hope to get your money before the doors are shut forever, to defend yourself for stealing a horse and buggy, or for murdering homeless men who'd come looking for a handout, for work, burying them deep and neat, but not so neat and not so deep they were never found.
And then there's the courtroom itself...the one the presiding judge here uses. Tall ceilings, tall enough you could build a second floor within the room, and still have ceilings on each floor that were higher than normal. The county must have been flush in those days. The paneling is solid mahogany, not some thin veneer, but the real thing, and every inch, every intricate curve of the half-pillars in the four corners, and the two along each wall; every swirl of the ornate carving of each three-foot-square section of the ceiling has been polished and repolished until it almost shines with a light of its own. The judge's bench is ebony, simple lines to emphasize the grain of the wood, an austere and powerful contrast to the deep red-brown glow of the mahogany. The juror's chairs with the worn wine-colored cushions, the lawyers' tables, are some other dark wood, gleaming with age, miraculously unscarred, almost as if every generation of lawyers and clients and juries made up of one's peers were too afraid, or too awed, for the usual careless kicking and scratching and doodling with a knife-point (back in the days when that was even possible in a courthouse) or a ballpoint that would have left a century's worth of "Kilroy was here" marks.
America at its most awesome. Justice in truly hallowed halls.
There. Somewhere in all of that was a sound bite that CNN could use for the late news, or NBC, or the BBC, or whoever else would be waiting in the square when we got done tonight. And I do mean tonight. In this trial, we broke for dinner at five, came back at six--the jurors had their meals catered, we fended for ourselves--and worked until at least eight. At which time the jurors were excused, and we had another chambers conference. Followed by dealing with the press, and getting an actual meal, and doing all the work that had to be done before eight the next morning because the judge decided he knew better than you how to try your case.
God, I hate federal judges. Like I tell associates as they start the ass-kissing ladder-climb to partnership, federal judges screw you for no reason at all, well, except perhaps to prove that they can since they're appointed for life. And then they do it again, just to make sure you get the point. And if the trial is big enough, like this one, at least once more to be sure you don't forget.
The plaintiffs filed suit in state court, and I removed it to federal court since there was diversity jurisdiction...all the plaintiffs lived in this state, the seven corporate defendants "lived" elsewhere...and the money the plaintiffs were demanding was a hundred times the jurisdictional amount. They tried to get it remanded on a technicality, but I beat them. So I was all set for a comfortable two or three months in a large city, with plenty of bars and parties and other diversions, when the judge decided to try the case here...in the same goddamned courthouse where the plaintiffs' lawyer walked up to the second floor and filed the fucking suit in the first place. That was the first time.
And speaking of time, it was time I started paying attention again. Not that I was ignoring the direct examination of one of the plaintiffs' experts. I have a kind of autopilot that lets me listen to what's going on, sort of like background music, when the odds are nothing important is going to happen, while thinking of something else...like sound bites and federal judges...but if something does happen, my reflexes are quick enough to kick my mind and mouth into gear so I can respond. Nothing was happening, but it was about time to break this prick's stride. He was good, not in my league, but good and he was certain to give me an opening.
"Objection." I carefully didn't look at the jury as I rose, well, not directly, just enough so that they could see how much it pained me...just the merest flicker of regret across my eyes and lips...to have to interrupt. Again.
"Overruled." The judge's voice snapped out just as I straightened up. What the fuck?
"Counsel, I've made my ruling."
"I understand, your Honor." I spoke quickly, but not so quickly the court reporter couldn't hear and follow. "But may I at least make a record of my objection, just to protect my clients' rights?" I thought my slight head turn towards the jury was subtle enough, so they could see the expression that told them how valiantly I was laboring under the burdens imposed by this judge, all to protect the rights of my poor clients. Clients whose salaries and perks for their CEOs were in the aggregate more than the gross national product of several small countries combined. I must have been slipping. The gavel bang! caused everyone's head to snap towards the bench. Including mine.
"Counsel, when you are speaking to me, speak to me, and not the jury. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your Honor." Right. Like I had a choice about what to say at that moment.
"Make your objection."
I did, and the iceberg that sank the Titanic just stared at me, long enough to be sure I got the message, short enough so that he couldn't be accused of denying my clients a fair trial by being unduly harsh on me out of some personal-appearing animosity. He didn't bother with the gavel. "Your objection is still overruled." Bastard. He didn't have to rub it in. All he had to do was say one word.
I sat down.
The plaintiffs' lawyer started to resume direct, but the judge held up a hand to silence him. He picked up an old and ornate gold pocket watch, pressed the stem so that the cover popped open, and checked the time. The clock on the wall could have told him it was 11:45 a.m. He closed the lid on the watch, set it down.
"We will break now for lunch, and reconvene today at two o'clock." You could feel the surprise in the courtroom; the one-hour, noon to one o'clock, lunch break had been as rigidly enforced as the rest of his rules. But when you're a federal judge....
He gave the usual admonition to the jury...don't talk about the case, don't think about the case, blah, blah, blah...and then the bailiff banged her gavel and we all rose to pay our respects to the jurors as they filed out. We started to do the usual lunch-time packing up, and I had just turned away to start to give my chief paralegal some instructions, when the judge said, "Counsel."
There were seven lawyers in front of the bar. There were probably a dozen or so in the courtroom, some our associates, others just local lawyers dropping by to see what was going on. There were all the plaintiffs' family members, and the media, and other hangers-on filling the place to overflowing. And everyone in the goddamned room knew that the word was directed at me.
I turned around, looked up at him standing behind the bench. I lifted one eyebrow in question, a perfectly innocent "me?" expression. He ignored it and just said two words. "Chambers. Now."
I shrugged, spreading my arms a little in a "but of course" gesture. My colleagues and staff didn't say a word. They didn't have to. Some of them were commiserating with me, some of them were confident I could handle whatever came up, some of them thought I deserved whatever the judge was going to do...and I knew precisely who felt what. Which was unfortunate for some of them. Plaintiffs' counsel was doing a pretty fair Chernobyl imitation, radiating smugness.
After packing my briefcase with the materials I wanted to review over lunch, or whatever small amount of time I had after this meeting, I crossed the courtroom, and pushed on the door the judge had gone through. It was locked. Prick! The only person left who might have seen that tiny bit of public humiliation was a young associate of mine, and she was more than smart enough to appear as though she had seen nothing, and leave quickly. I didn't bother with the other doors behind the bench area and the witness box, both because of the possibility they, too, would be locked, and because I didn't like the picture of me foolishly rattling doorknobs if someone came back into the courtroom.
At a leisurely pace, I left the courtroom by the main doors, ignored the crowd in the hall and the media, acting as if it had always been my intention to keep the judge waiting by taking the long way around. When I reached his chambers I lifted my hand to knock, but a voice suddenly behind me told me to go in. I looked over my shoulder. It was Antonio, the judge's senior law clerk. Short, stocky, leaning toward the plump side, mustached, late twenties, graduate of Harvard and Harvard Law on a full scholarship, a merit scholarship my staff had found out, not one of those give-a-Latino-something-he-could-never-earn things. Always Antonio, never Anglicized to Anthony and definitely not shortened to Tony. The judge was rigid with his formalities, so Antonio it was.
Daniel Whitfield Mayhew III, Chief Judge of the District Court was looking out the window when I came in. He didn't bother to turn around. I didn't bother to announce my presence. Instead I just admired the room again. I always admire what wealth can do. The presiding judge down here came from old money, very old money, and he'd spent a lot of it getting elected and staying elected. He'd also spent a lot of it renovating the judges' chambers throughout the courthouse, not just his own. It seems that the citizens wanted their courtrooms to be a class act, but they weren't particularly inclined to give their judges plush quarters as well. Judge Donovan took care of that oversight. The room was paneled in mahogany as well, with a large leather couch, several over-stuffed leather chairs and a teak coffee table in one corner that made a nice conference area. The rugs were thick and soft; the drapes at the windows were equally elegant, a deep wine color with an intricate pattern that was visible but not distracting.
At last Judge Mayhew deigned to turn around. He found me still standing in the doorway, with Antonio behind me and slightly to my left. A law clerk doesn't sit before the judge and the lawyers do. The judge and I stared at each other, with me having to look up just a bit. Judge Mayhew is 6'4, with moderately short hair the rich color of antique silver, the kind that always looks like it's been polished carefully for generations, and definitely doesn't come out of a bottle. He had dark eyes, and at 61, a face with remarkably few lines, other than the two that slashed downward from that oh-so-aristocratic nose. His mouth was thin, although whether that was natural or just because he was pissed at me, I wasn't sure. I hadn't seen him often during the course of discovery and pretrial when he wasn't at least mildly pissed at me. The black robe was open, revealing a glaringly white dress shirt, a bright red tie, and surprisingly fitted black trousers on a body that was still slender.
He was looking at 38 years old, 6'2 inches, 190 pounds to his 150 or so, light brown hair that rippled down to my shoulders, wide face, dark brown eyes, fairly full lips, wide shoulders and wide chest to set off the no waist, no hips, all put together in a package of very well-tailored Armani. Oh, yeah. A one-carat ruby stud was in my left ear. Not exactly your typical corporate defense lawyer, but when you're as good as I am you can afford to make a fashion statement...or any other kind of statement.
Judge Mayhew held my eyes for a while longer, and then shifted his stare to look me over from head to toe like he was inspecting some beef he was about to buy, or to judge from his expression, something slightly distasteful he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. When he was done, and looking me in the eyes again, I did the same thing to him, perhaps lingering a second too long on his crotch before looking him in the eyes again, though there was a slight smile on my face. The smile could have been for any reason, and as I usually did, I let the recipient decide on the reason. Tends to unnerve them when I do that.
His lips tightened, then relaxed, and for an instant there was a glint in his eyes I couldn't quite decipher. The door opened and shut behind me, and the judge allowed his expression to soften for a moment so short I would have thought it was my imagination, except that I'm too good an observer to imagine things that aren't there.
"I believe you have already met my other law clerk," the judge said. "Daniel, this is Perry..." the pause was slight but just enough for anyone to fill it in with the obvious but inaccurate "Mason" (I still haven't forgiven my parents for that initial) before he finished with "...M. Scheffrin."
Actually, I hadn't met the judge's new law clerk. His son. Daniel Whitfield Mayhew IV. First in his class at M.I.T. with a double major in physics and computer science. First in his class at the University of Kansas School of Law. Both degrees earned with a combination of scholarships and jobs and not a cent of his family's money. Apparently the only thing he'd ever accepted from his father was whatever favors were called in to bend the rules to allow him to clerk for dear old dad. Although no one was stupid enough to call it nepotism or say anything about it. He was, if anything, better qualified for the job than anyone else in the country. My research staff does their job very well or they get fired.
He came up to my right and I turned to greet him, extending my hand to shake his. High-powered lawyer being gracious to the new kid on the block. The pause before our hands met was a tiny hiccup of motion. My hiccup.
My research staff was about to be fired. Actually, I had met the judge's new law clerk.
I'd fucked him last Saturday night. Twice. And sucked his cock. And gotten fucked by him Sunday morning. Twice. He'd had my ass for breakfast, sucking out the cum he'd deposited there. I returned the favor a while later in lieu of lunch.
I don't think any of those thoughts crossed my face as we shook hands, although there was a suspicious gleam of humor in Danny's eyes. Danny was all he had told me while we stood close together at the bar, my index finger sliding in and out of his ass through the "torn" spot that just happened to be right over his hole. And naturally he has to have a close relationship with his father, so he can tell daddy who he tricked with last weekend. Shit!
I turned back to the judge, marshalling my best quizzical expression, ready to deny any knowledge of that incredible mouth, that hot ass, but he cut me off before my lips even parted. "Don't bother, counselor. Daniel has already told me."
Well, duh! I thought, but only thought, and kept my mouth shut. You want to give me a clue here, you lifetime asshole? Did he tell you we ran into each other at a bar and had a drink, or did he tell you he had his tongue so far up my butt if I'd swallowed coffee it would have gone into his throat? Did he tell you we had a pleasant conversation about practicing law, or that I made him scream when I came in his ass?
Only a second or so passed while the judge just stared at me, unblinking. He must have signaled somehow, but my mind was so messed up right then that I missed it. I got my answer when Danny's right hand relieved me of my briefcase, while his left hand rested on my shoulder, and then he had both hands on my coat, and Antonio was on the other side, and they were sliding the coat off very carefully. Antonio stepped back to put the coat...somewhere. I didn't even think to give him my usual it's-Armani-if-you-fuck-it-up-I'll-rip-your-arms-off-and-ram-them-down-your-throat speech. I was caught by Judge Mayhew's eyes.
We were doing some sort of Rikki Tikki Tavi thing and right then I was real confused about who was the mongoose and who was the cobra. And while we stared Danny and Antonio undid the ruby and gold cufflinks, and pulled my suspenders off my shoulders, and undid my tie, and unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it out of my pants and peeled it off me. I was alone, or rather temporarily untouched, half-naked in front of the judge, while they set the cufflinks, shirt and tie down behind me. Then they were back again, each one with a hand behind my shoulder, a hand in front of it, and while the back hand just held my flesh, the front hands wandered, palms down, through the thick hair on my chest, pausing for just a moment to knead my pecs, which made my nipples hard, and therefore very visible, before sliding down until their thumbs touched at my navel, and their fingertips worked their way inside the waistband of my trousers and boxers.
The hands on my back slid downwards as well, each one cupping an ass cheek briefly before the four hands began removing my suspenders. Antonio's right hand gathered them up and I sensed more than saw him fling the suspenders towards a chair or the couch. The hands were back to playing with my ass, while they unbuttoned my pants and unzipped the fly. Christ, this thing was so smooth, you'd almost think they'd...done it...before....
The judge continued to stare, ignoring the question in my eyes, as his law clerks pulled my trousers down to my thighs, knelt, and lifted first one foot and then the other to remove the Bally loafers. My pants came off next, and while they were still down there they got my socks off.
I was almost naked in a room with three fully-dressed men. I was also very obviously hard beneath the boxers. They were very obviously hard beneath their trousers. The judge spoke. "You have two options, counselor. You can remove the boxers yourself, or get dressed and leave. Either way, nothing ever happened in this room."
I didn't win Olympic gold in getting rid of the boxers. Just silver.
The judge looked at my oozing cock slit. And then at his watch. Shit. This wasn't going to be long and leisurely.
I could live with that.
The law clerks moved up to where I could see them...and appreciate the dicks they had pulled out of their pants and were slowly stroking. I reached out and took over for them. As I remembered, Danny...Daniel?...was more than a handful, a ruler-straight prick jutting out parallel to the floor, pink and wide-headed. Antonio's dark-brown cock would probably have been about seven inches if it were stretched out, but it had kind of a "hook" to it, so that the head of his prick was curved up toward his belly. I played with their meat and rubbed the precum around their dick heads and shafts.
"Who gets your ass?"
Great. A voyeur who just wanted to beat his own meat while he watched his son fuck and suck with two other men.
I could live with that.
"Tony." I almost smiled as his cock twitched in my hand. What the fuck. If Mayhew wanted a show, I'd give him one. I turned sideways so the judge could see me in profile, Antonio behind me, the judge's son in front of me. I dropped to my knees, and swallowed Danny's cock in one very talented gulp, bumping my nose on the zipper edge before I could inhale the scent of soap and sweat and a recent piss and the general goodness of a man's crotch. Danny was wearing a belt, so it was real easy to undo it, and the top button and pull his pants down onto his thighs while my head eagerly bobbed up and down on his cock. I pulled my head away, leaving his prick shiny and slimy with my spit, glancing over to see the judge still just staring, ignoring and not even touching the large bulge in his trousers. Danny's Hilfiger boxers got peeled down.
There's a real turnon sucking dick when the man you're sucking is still basically dressed, with just enough clothes down to give you plenty of room to work. I played with Danny's balls, spit-slicked my finger and shoved it up his hole hard while I deep-throated him. Danny gasped, and then grabbed my head and started face-fucking me. Unh-uh. Nope. Not yet. I grabbed his wrists and pulled my head away. I put Danny's left hand on his prick and his right hand on his ass. Have I mentioned Danny was really smart? He had at least one of his fingers up his hole in no time at all, and was starting to beat off while I turned my attention to Antonio.
Eager young man. His pants were already down around his ankles and his briefs were stretched around his thick, heavily-muscled thighs, just below a pair of the most gorgeous, plump, low-hanging balls it was ever going to be my pleasure to suck on. I started with those balls, licking them very carefully, caressing them with one hand. Of course, my other hand needed something to do, and my wet fingers just naturally gravitated toward Antonio's hole. There was a little resistance, an almost pulling away. I stopped working on his balls and he got the message. I worked one finger past that really tight pucker while I got his first ball in my mouth, then started moving it in and out and in a circular motion while I worked on his other ball.
I waited until I had his cock down my throat, my head bouncing up and down rapidly like I was going to try to get him off with a blowjob, before I rammed the second finger up his hole. He moaned real loud and then bit it off, although with the paneling and the thick walls I doubt anyone could have heard him. I really got him going, working his prick and finger-fucking him hard and deep, my fingertips working his prostate. He started to fuck my face really hard, forgetting what was supposed to happen. I'd have to remind him sometime that a good lawyer never allows himself to forget his real goal, no matter how pleasant the side track or the diversion.
Tony gasped again when I stopped working his cock and yanked my fingers out of his hole.
As I swiveled to face Danny once more, being very careful to avoid rug burn on my knees, I noticed Judge Mayhew had condescended to grope his still-covered crotch. Well, at least he was getting some enjoyment out of the fun I was having.
I grabbed Danny's butt and pulled him to me, while I pushed his pants and shorts down to his ankles. He'd already tucked his tie between two buttons and tucked the front of his shirt up so it wouldn't flap in my face. I love considerate cocksuckees. Still sucking his prick, I tugged lightly on his hips and he got the message. He folded himself downward so that he was on floor, with his knees spread wide...given the fact he still had his coat and tie on, and his pants were bunched under his ass, with his calf-length black socks...hell, he looked like some horny business man sliding his prick under the divider in a john to get his cock sucked by a horny faggot.
I wondered whether Antonio was going to get his message...the one entailed in my tail being up in the air. He did. Unless I was imagining a bristly moustache over a hot, sloppy wet tongue buried in my ass crack, licking my asshole. I have a good imagination, but not that good. It didn't take him long to get me sloppy wet, and even less time after that to clamp down on my hips and get that wickedly curved dick head into my butt. I opened my hole up and swallowed the rest of his meat, sucking it in almost like I was sucking down Danny's prick.
After that I didn't have to do much work...hell, I didn't have to do anything at all. Antonio's hands had a death-grip on my butt as he started shoving it to me hard and fast...I wonder what gave him a clue...and all I had to do was rest my weight on my palms, since Danny had a death-grip on the sides of my head and was using those slender muscular thighs to raise and lower his hips so that he was fucking my face almost as hard and fast as my ass was getting screwed. Christ, but there is nothing like the feel one a pair of heavy man-balls banging away at your chin, while another hairy set of balls slams at your hole.
We all knew there wasn't all that much time so I was not only not surprised but I was eager for the speed with which both ends of me were getting fucked. Every stroke slamming into my throat or corkscrewing up my butt made my nerves tingle. Antonio was the first to go, and his whimper as he collapsed over my back gave Danny the go-ahead. That wicked curve to Tony's prick must have done something because it sure felt like a steady stream spiraling up the walls of my ass to finally splash head-on into the load pouring into my gullet from Danny's bullet-shooting dick head.
I felt Tony lift off me and slide his softening meat out of my hole. Danny started doing the same, but I nuzzled and mouthed his prick a bit to get a taste of his cum. When his sticky cock plopped down between his legs, I was ready to sort of stretch and glance over to see if the judge had condescended to cum, too...probably into a special linen handkerchief he kept handy, the pervert. Well, I guess I didn't have much room to comment seeing it was me who'd just had a three-way with the judge's son while the judge watched and got his jollies.
Only he hadn't.
I found that out shortly after Danny grabbed my shoulders and started kissing me. Really good. His tongue-work is a major goddamned distraction. Which is what I needed just then, because that's when I found out there were two things Danny hadn't inherited from his father: height and cock size.
Danny is about six one. As I said, the judge is six four. Danny has a nicely above-average cock and he really knows how to use it. The cock that was beginning to shove into my hole was more than just "nicely" above average. It was one of those above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty cocks. The kind that tricks your butt into believing it was only going to have to open up an inch, maybe a little more, and then once part of the head has spread you, the rest of the damned head, and the shaft keep on spreading and spreading and fucking spreading. Goddamn but the judge knew what he was doing. Two tough callused hands were gripping my pecs, squeezing and releasing them, holding me up with my back arched so my butt was thrust toward the judge, and all the while the judge's son was kissing me so deep I thought he was going to suck his and Antonio's cum up and out my throat.
I whimpered and moaned into Danny's mouth and he sucked my noises down into silence. I couldn't recall when I had ever had anything up my ass that thick, that fucking long...real prick or dildo...or that turned me on the way this cock was. And then at last he was all the way in. I didn't know whether to be relieved that was all, or sorry that there wasn't more. Danny stopped kissing me and I dropped my hands to the floor again. No, that wasn't good enough. I went further, resting my weight on my forearms, my forehead resting on Danny's cock and balls. I shoved my ass up against his father, a silent plea to be used.
He pulled his prick out of me so slowly that when only the tip with his piss-slit was left inside me, I felt like there was an empty pipe, a wide empty pipe up my ass. I heard slurping sounds and felt a tongue lapping at where cock head and asshole were joined. Antonio's tongue was almost as good as Danny's. Then the judge started to slide in again, his cock shaft slimy with Antonio's spit and cum and my ass juices. This time he moved just the merest fraction of a second faster in getting to the all-the-way-to-the-hilt stage.
I sighed into Danny's prick; inhaled sweat and ball scent and fresh cum. The outward stroke was again just a little faster and he didn't go quite as far. In again, and faster, making my nerves vibrate. Faster out, and not as far, then in and faster still. My head was shaking back and forth and I began breathing heavily, inhaling as much air as I could get into my lungs. He steadily increased the speed of his lunges into my ass until he felt like some jackhammer drilling a hole, although my butt was much more eager to be drilled than a concrete slab, and just like you can feel the ground vibrate when you're standing near that jackhammer, my whole fucking body was vibrating from the short rapid punches up into my gut.
And then he stopped. The bastard. A series of really fast short strokes and then he pulls his prick all the way out. I was not going to whimper. I was not going to beg.
I opened my mouth to whimper and beg...but he forestalled me. He bent over, his crisp shirt and silk tie caressing my back and whispered to me. I was barely able to nod in reply. Anything to get his cock up my ass. Christ, I wished I had radar on my ass, so I could just lock on target and slide my hole down over his prick. I needn't have worried about that particular missile finding its launch tunnel, though. I heard a few slurping sounds...Antonio must really dig sweat and spit and his own cum and assjuices...and then half the judge's meat just rammed up inside of me.
Judge Mayhew's hands were on my butt, holding me steady. When he spoke, his words took me by surprise, since his voice was as cold and precise as it was in the courtroom. "Counselor, I'm fed up with your antics in court, subtle though they are. The fine is a thousand dollars."
"You can't...oh God!...." He punched the rest of his prong up inside me. "...do that."
"Fifteen hundred." He slid all the way out and I swear to God I could feel a breeze up my butt I was open so wide.
"Goddamn it, that isn't fair." My voice was shaking, partially with lust, well, fuck, mostly with lust, and a little bit of anger. Although not too much. I had been pushing the boundaries...okay...crossing them...so maybe he was right. But I wasn't going to give in that easy.
"What is it you say about federal judges and fairness?" It was a rhetorical question; he obviously didn't need an answer as he slid slowly outward keeping just his dick head inside me. "Two thousand."
I pushed my butt toward him, engulfing more of his meat, and muttered, "Seven...seventeen fifty."
"You're arguing with me, counselor," he said as he moved slowly in again, this time rotating his hips so his hot prick was going round and round up my ass. "Twenty-five hundred."
"Ah, shit...fuck it!" I clamped my ass muscles as tight as I could around his prick.
"But of course," he said in a cool, amused, grey-poupon sort of way. And he did. No more jackhammer, just long steady strokes in and out of my butt, occasionally speeding up then slowing down, hips rotating so that his dripping prick head massaged my ass walls. He kept going and going and going like the fucking bunny only so much more fucking fun. I began to vibrate, maybe not literally, but it felt like every molecule in me was trembling and buzzing. He started speeding up a little, but still long and hard and deep.
I wasn't consciously aware when Danny lay down on his back, still in shirt and tie and wriggled his way between my spread legs so that he could suck on my balls for a while. I moaned and lowered my torso so my weight was resting on my forearms with my ass up in the air for his father to use me. Danny's again hard prick was right in my face, instinctively I sucked it in. Danny didn't return the favor, though, he just lay there perfectly still with his mouth barely over the head of my cock. In fact, my prick was sort of resting on his open mouth, moving around with the motion caused by the thick rod that was ramming me ever faster.
Danny speeded up, too, punching his dripping prick down my eager throat. All I had to do was keep my mouth and hot lips on his meat and let him do the work. Christ, I'd never been so fucking turned on in my life. And so helpless. I could barely support my weight, my body was humming, the biggest cock I'd ever had up my ass was making my nerves shout with joy, out of the corner of my eye I could sense more than actually see a hot Italian stud beating his prick, ready to spray me with cum, and I started to hyperventilate.
That's when the judge pulled all the way out, paused for a fraction of a second and rammed all the way in so hard that my cock got shoved down Danny's waiting throat, and my head plunged into Danny's warm smelly crotch, doing my own sword-swallowing routine, as I felt hot gushes of Danny's cum blasting up my throat, and equally hot drops raining down on my back and side from Antonio. My own cock felt like it wasn't spurting cum; it felt like someone had turned a faucet handle in my asshole and cum was just draining out. The judge just kept cumming and cumming up inside me, feeling like he was feeding the river of cum that was draining out of me. His cock quivered and shook, and so did he.
And then we were done. Well, almost done. The judge pulled his prick out of me gently, and Danny slid out from under me. I didn't allow myself to collapse although the few nerve-endings that were functional were screaming at me to do just that. I managed to sit on my haunches, my asshole clamped tight, feeling Antonio's cum run down my back and curve onto my side. Christ! The judge was still dressed. He'd just had his cock and balls out through his pants.
"Danny?" the judge inquired.
"No way," I said before his son could say anything. I quickly swiveled, and in the process decided that after a fuck like that I could live with rug burn on my knees. I swooped down on the judge's cock, licking it clean, inhaling the hot musky scent of man and sweat and cum. Then I settled back on the face that was beneath my ass, feeling the mustache tickling my butt as Antonio tongue-fucked me and sucked out what was left of his cum and the judge's powerful load. I only staggered a little when I got to my feet, and turned to see Antonio and Danny sharing the cum with a deep kiss.
The judge's meat was already back inside his trousers, and he was behind his desk. He handed me a towel from a drawer, as he looked at his watch. "Counselor, I'm afraid we're going to have to bring this conference to an end." I just nodded. I was still the only naked one in a room with three fully-dressed men. When you're an experienced faggot, you know how to get your pants up and your clothes on real quickly when you need to. And these were obviously three very experienced faggots.
Antonio wiped me down hurriedly, and then I sat on the couch to pull on my socks. Antonio handed me the boxers, I slipped them on, but as I started to pick up my trousers, Danny came out of the judge's bathroom holding deodorant and a bottle of "Boss." He actually remembered my favorite cologne. A few minutes later we were all impeccably dressed, our breathing virtually normal.
I put a suitable expression on my face as I left the room...a trial lawyer's innate and practiced arrogance blended with a hint of being mildly chastened. Naturally, the plaintiffs' lead counsel just "happened" to be in the hall. He grinned maliciously. "You get fucked by your federal judge?"
Damn. My three-fuck principle was better known than I thought it was. I gave him my best shit-eating grin. "Yeah. It was awesome. I'll remember it a long time. Or at least until Monday." He blinked and looked at me oddly.
The rest of Friday afternoon I was...for me...remarkably quiet. I objected only three times, each one well within the boundaries, each one sustained. I gave my staff the weekend off, which surprised the hell out of them, but no one was stupid enough to comment, much less complain. I flew the firm's jet into the city and spent about thirty hours fucking my brains out with an ex-lover, and thinking about what the judge had whispered to me.
When the trial resumed Monday, I gave the plaintiffs' lawyer perhaps six minutes of uninterrupted examination before my first objection. Which was overruled. As was the second. And third. The fourth and fifth were sustained. The sixth and seventh were overruled. And we were only at 10:30. Opposing counsel was just a bit rattled by all this. When I rose at 10:47 to make my eighth objection, I heard what sounded suspiciously like a laugh converted into a smothered cough from the rear of the courtroom. Danny? Antonio?
The judge didn't even bother to let me finish the word before the gavel whipcracked in the quiet courtroom as he said, "Overruled." His face was stony as he said, "Counsel. Approach." Opposing counsel started forward as well, but the judge waived him back.
When I reached the bench, the judge put his hand over the microphone, and waved away the court reporter. We were in a kind of zone of silence, temporarily out of the hearing of everyone else.
We were both thinking of the whispered words when his cock was teasing my asshole: "This is the second fuck. Mess with me again in my courtroom, and you're gambling on whether the third fuck is going to be in front of everyone out there and on the record...or this. You better think about the risk."
"I warned you, didn't I?"
"Yes, your honor."
"And what do you think I should do?"
I prayed there weren't any lip-readers around. "Fuck me, your honor. Hard."
There was no expression on his face as he motioned me to move back and lifted his hand from the microphone.
A new Ice Age set in when he spoke. "Counsel, I will see you in chambers when we break this evening. Bring your checkbook. And I suggest that at the noon recess you might practice writing zeros. A lot of them."
The courtroom broke into laughter, quickly stifled at the rap of the gavel. I walked back to the defense table, but my eye caught Danny's where he was standing by the doors. Face composed and blank, he nevertheless winked. My asshole twitched.
I made a note in my mental day-timer. "Chambers Conference. 5 p.m."