The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Posting Bailey

“Wow, somehow I thought it would be...bigger.”

“Sweetie, honey, you, like, watch way too much TV, " Bubbles said, smacking her gum in just the wrong places. “Everything’s bigger on, you know, TV.”

“I just wasn’t expecting it to be so...tight. And what else am I going to do in jail?”

It was true, too. The jail part. Well, OK, the TV part too, but I wasn’t going to cop to that. I think I’ve seen every Bugs ‘toon in the WB archive. Maybe that’s where the antiauthority thing comes in. Bugs didn’t take shit from no one.

And porn, of course. But only back when they had actual plots. Growing up, I always wanted to be a director like Tony Spinelli. Can you imagine how much sex that guy must’ve got?

Bugs and Spinelli. And you wonder why I’m the way I am? Heh.

So, anyway, we’re in this teeny, tiny excuse for a court room packed in with all the rest of the burglars, check kiters and coke dealers waiting for the judge to show. Nothing like Perry Mason or even Ben Stone. Hell, not even Night Court. Four little rows of benches and one little ass judge stand near the back. Talk about disappointing.

“Well, you know, you could’ve, like, tried to come up with some good reasons to, like, you know, have them let you out.”

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

OK, maybe that was a little too subliminal for my tastes...after all, she WAS just taking my advice about listening to her body more. Standing in the front row of a courtroom in red pumps, white stockings, short red plaid skirt, virgin white blouse and her hair up in bows and pigtails, she looked like a younger Brittany Spears without the boob job. She even had her court papers in a brand new red N’Sync book bag. But the gum thing just HAD to go...

Even I have limits.

“Isn’t that supposed to be YOUR job?” I reached into her mouth to pull out the gum.

“Hey?! That was my last one!” She pouted. In that outfit. And she said she only averaged 600 bucks a night. If I didn’t know she wasn’t lying, I’d have thought she was lying. Must’ve been an awful lot of Viagra customers in that particular strip club...

Hell, just looking around at the slimes and pimps jammed into that little excuse for a courtroom, I think she could’ve made three times that right then and there. But I’m not THAT mean. OK, so I AM that mean, but like I said earlier, I kinda digged her. Or dug her. Or whatever. And Mr. Chuckles was behaving himself.

For the moment.

I figured there were six or seven perps and six or seven lawyers crammed in there with us, but the only way you could tell who was who was because the good guys in the state capital—or wherever—decided crooks look good in orange. ‘Cept for me, of course, I look awful in orange. Frank looked pretty good though, when I left the cell block. Can’t say I like his taste in clothes much though, so he let me wear mine...

Anyway, there were thirteen or fourteen guys in this little courtroom wannabe, which meant there were 30 or so eyes all trying to figure out what Bubbles had on underneath that skirt. As they say where I come from, if an eye fight broke out in the place, there’d be an awful lot of blind folks running around. So I just smiled the good smile and put my arm around my little schoolyard lawyer’s waist. Then she leaned over and nibbled on my ear. Just goes to show you don’t have to be a judge to get everyone to rise in the courtroom...

OK, you can stop gagging now. I mean, seriously. Don’t hurt yourself on my account. Too much, anyway.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

I forgot about George and Stanley. George was the officer of the law that escorted all of us up there. Since you had to go through all sorts of metal detectors and shit, they figured they only needed one cop around to make sure everyone behaved themselves. Like anyone wanted to screw up their bail chances by attacking a judge or something. Anyway, George was an OK guy...for a cop. He told us a couple of lousy courtroom jokes on the way up, and he wasn’t full of himself like most of the other cops I’d met since this whole thing started. I think he must’ve been working a double, ‘cause his eyes kept wanting to shut on him. Oh, well, at least court duty was kinda safe, I guess.

Stanley was the court guy—I think they call ‘em bailiffs. Like Bull on Night Court, ‘cept Stanley was short, chunky, and looked more like...well, a Stanley. His mother really named him right. Mainly he stood around and looked bored. I bet he hadn’t been laid in years.

So, make that four MORE eyes fighting over Bubbles. Not that she minded. Not anymore, anyway. Her brain and body were getting along MUCH better since she met me. Every two minutes, she’d drop one of her papers under a bench just to see which lawyer would get his two hundred dollar suit dirty. And it wasn’t even MY idea. Yeah, she was really starting to grow on me.

So, anyway, fifteen or so guys were all focused on us instead of on their cases when the main door opened and SHE came in. George and Stanley immediately followed their little men downstairs and stood at attention. Half the lawyers and perps turned to see what was going on and the rest kept watching Bubbles as she flipped through her paperwork.

It was like Moses and the Red Sea all over again, except with orange and black and blue perp and lawyer Jell-O. This gal don’t walk, she fucking GLIDES into the room. Everything got really quiet and even the guys who were looking at Bubbles got this strange feeling on the backs of their necks and had to turn around. One of ‘em was surprised and dropped his papers in the aisle in front of her and I swear they went flying across the room on their own, just to get the hell out of her way. She hesitated, just for a second, in front of one of the cons and her head shifted just a teeny bit in his direction. All of a sudden there was this really awful smell all around and she cracked a little bitty smile before finally settling down in a chair on the other side of the room.

Even I had to look down to make sure it wasn’t me.

It wasn’t, of course, but the very idea that I even had to THINK about it was enough to wake Mr. Chuckles up.

“Of course, you know, this means war.”

And that was the first time we met Miss Bailey Davenport, Assistant District Attorney. Mr. Chuckles was in love—again. Yeah, I know, the little guy falls in love at the drop of a...well, just about anything. But I gotta live with him, if you know what I mean.

I gotta admit, though, he picked a good one this time. She was pretty tall, about five nine, late twenties, thin, cinnamon hair, and was wearing this beige Armani suit that must’ve cost two thousand dollars. The only reason I know Armani is that I once ran into this rich lady back on my corner one night and all the time we were screwing she kept talking about how I could do anything to her as long as I didn’t touch the suit. Amazing what you can get out of people when they’re being totally honest. Of course, now the only time she can cum at all is when she’s wearing her suits. I bet that drives her husband crazy. But anyway...

The really cool thing about Bailey, though, was her four-hundred dollar Armani shades. I asked Mr. Chuckles and neither one of us could ever remember ever loving a woman with glasses. Very strange, that. Neither of us got nothing against them, mind you, it just never happened. But there she was, Miss ADA herself, getting ready to do the work o’ the people by taking us hardened criminals off the streets. Or at least taking our money so we wouldn’t go nowhere before she could take us off the streets. Or something like that. I’m not a lawyer, I just watch cop shows.

So I was studying Miss ADA Glasses over there—along with most everyone else in the room (except for the poor perp that George had to escort to the john to get cleaned up)—when I noticed I ain’t heard much paper shuffling from this side of the aisle. So I turned around to see what’s up and Bubbles was sitting there with this godawfull expression on her face. I dunno exactly how to describe it, but it was like someone had stepped on her foot hard AND told her they’d killed her dog all at the same time. She looked like someone had rubbed her cherry red lipstick all over the rest of her face, her pigtails were curling around through the air like two pissed-off rattlesnakes, and you could almost see and feel those squiggly little heat lines around her head. Very, very, UN-Bubbles like.

“It’s HER,” she hissed. And it was a really, really GOOD hiss.

I’ve heard so many of them aimed at me in my time, I consider myself the pimp daddy of all hissees. And this was one time I was kinda glad it wasn’t aimed in my direction. That was one bad-ass nasty hiss.

So I’m watching with awe as this big momma hiss barrels over towards Miss ADA there and somehow, someway, she must feel it or hear it coming, ‘cause just before it gets to her she tilts her head down slightly and peers out over those Armanis with two of the most evil looking green eyes I ever seen on a woman. And next thing I know, this great grandma hiss stops, shudders, shakes and shatters into thousands of little baby hissettes that all fall to the ground and run squealing and yelping under the nearest bench. Oooh, I gotta tell you, it was something outa Chuck Jones’ worst nightmare.

Somehow, I got the feeling these two didn’t like each other much.

And everyone in this little corner of the local law world now knew it. All the paper shuffling and whispering stopped and everyone started wondering if there was enough air in here for all of us. Bubbles was squinting really hard at Bailey and Bailey’s greens were working so hard her Armanis were vibrating on the end of her nose. The benches started shaking slightly and the old tile on the floor started chipping in a straight line between the two. It was one BAD scene.

Like everyone else, I was in awe of all this sheer hatred confined to such a small place, but figured I needed to do something about it before it got worse. As I said earlier, I consider myself a professional at this kind of mental loathing—I’ve been in the middle of it more times than I can remember—and Bubbles seemed pretty good at it, but nowhere in this woman’s league. So I gathered my best smile and positioned myself between the two, facing Bubbles, and put a hand softly on her shoulder.

It didn’t hurt, much. But there was definitely some really nasty karma torturing the air between those two. I felt it, both in back and in front, and somewhere behind me I heard a slight chuckle as I imagine Bailey claimed victory and went back to organizing her paperwork. Bubbles wasn’t ready to give up that easily, though. She continued to stare through me, her little hands balled up so tightly her cute red nails were close to drawing blood.

Then it hit me. I can be so dense sometimes. And evidently I don’t recognize a lesbian society whore when I see one.

“Oh,” I whispered quietly to myself. “It’s THAT ‘her’.”

Mr. Chuckles added a few expletives of his own, though no one but me could’ve heard him. This was going to be even more fun than either of us had figured.

Or as Bugs might say... “How conveeeeeeennnnient!.”

I put my other hand on her other shoulder and suddenly Bubbles finally started to relax. “Hey, kiddo, don’t sweat it. Everything’s gonna be hunky. Remember what I told you yesterday about solving problems? Well, kiddo, you just hired the A-Team.”

And here it was, she was supposed to be helping ME. Oh, well. Whatever works.

As Bubbles picked up her N’Sync bookcase to get out some more papers, I turned my attention back to Miss ADA Davenport. They sure weren’t making lesbians the way they used to. I guess that sounds kinda mean, but what the fuck. I didn’t come across many on my corner and those that did stumble across me were your typical flannel shirt, crewcut dykes and weren’t much fun. Yeah, I’ve turned a few in my time, but it loses its appeal after the first couple. Let’s face it, it’s already an awful life and there’s no point in making it worse. Besides, even after turning, most of ‘em STILL don’t fuck worth a damn...

Which left me and Mr. Chuckles with kind of what you might call a quandary. On one hand, we had this marvelous symbol of oppression over there just ready, unwilling and able, and on the other, we had Bubbles. Much as I liked Bubbles, me and Mr. Chuckles have been best buddies ever since I was born. Choosing between the two wouldn’t be much of a choice...

That’s when the judge walked in and, just like Solomon, solved ALL our problems.

You know Judge Judy? Well, this was Judge Juliet. As in Anderson. Aunt Peg.

OK, so I just figured someone with your background and all your experience would know legendary porno stars. So, sue me.

Yeah, yeah, OK, so it wasn’t her, but damned if it didn’t look like her. Mid—’40s, tall, thin, elegant, short blonde hair. Very, very, businesslike, despite wearing a funky black robe. Suddenly Mr. Chuckles turned his attention to the bench. He’s a really fickle guy, but like I said, I gotta live with him.

Anyway, I’m already on my feet when Stanley suddenly came to life—well, as much of a life as he had, anyway—and announced the judge and told everyone to rise. Like most of us hadn’t been up since the Bubbles and Bailey show first started.

“Everyone rise for the Honorable Judge Meredith Wentworth.”

Ugh. I think I’ll just keep calling her Juliet or Judge. Just nod if you don’t mind. Good.

So the Judge sat at her bench and started doing her paperwork thing just like everyone else. Mr. Chuckles still hadn’t quite made up his mind, even though I had. I had a really nice scene that could work, but I just needed to convince him. He was still hung up on the Armani thing and I couldn’t get him to budge. Oh, you know what I mean.

That’s when the judge must’ve come to some really teeny tiny print she was having trouble with, because she reached into a pocket somewhere under that robe and pulled out a little set of gold wire rims.

Objection overruled.

Man, was this magic, or what? I’ve always been a pretty lucky guy, but someone down there must have decided that today was going to be my day. Either that, or he really, really had it in for both Bailey AND the Judge. Whatever was going on, I figured I might never get quite this kind of chance again, so I sat down quietly and began collecting myself while the rest of the actors went about their parts. This particular money shot was going to take some serious work.

The Judge looked at Bailey and smiled. “Hello, councilor, I trust we can get this over with before lunch. I’m famished.” Hell, she even SOUNDED like Aunt Peg.

“Yes, Your Honor, the people are only going to ask for one defendant to be remanded without bail. One Warren Bandan. He’s charged with first degree rape of a police officer.” Gotta admit I was kinda disappointed in her voice. After that fireworks display between her and Bubbles, I figured her for at least an octave lower with maybe some gravel. Instead, she came out with a high, freshly paved four-laner, and the way she read off the sheets had me thinking we were keeping her from chasing steeples or something. I was almost insulted. I expect venom when I hear my name, dammit.

So, anyway, the Judge took off her glasses and looked over the bench o’ perps, scanning to see what kind of dirty bastard would dare rape one of the city’s finest. I shrugged my shoulders, smiled and waved politely.

She didn’t like that much. Not much at all. But she had a really nice scowl. Not quite as nice as Bubbles’ but it would have to do, seeing as Bubbles doesn’t scowl much anymore. “Mr. Bandan, I assume you have an attorney present.”

Bubbles rose and straightened out what little skirt she had on. “Yes, Your Honor, Ma’am. I’m, like, Bubbles Kramer for the defense.” Smack.

Again with the damned gum. Where the hell did she keep getting it from? Fucking fraternity of public defenders...wonder which one of ‘em it was. Oh, well. I had more important things to concentrate on at the moment.

Judge Juliet did a double take, put her glasses back on, then took them off again. Then she stuck a finger in one ear to get the wax out. Bailey was doing her level best not to crack a smile, but having a very hard time of it.

“Is this some kind of a joke, Miss...?”

“Kramer, Your Honor. But you can, like, call me Bubbles. Everyone else does.” Smack.

“Uh, Miss Kramer, I don’t know if the bailiff explained it to you, but we have a dress code in my court.”

“Yes, Ma’am. He said I had to, you know, not let my stocking tops, like, show, but...”

Smack. Smack. She lifted up her skirt so to show the tops. “...it’s really hard to do, you know.” Smack.

The Judge glared over at Stanley, who was trying his best to fade into the corner. Shame on him for trying to have a life. While most eyes were fixed on Stanley, I noticed Bailey cocking her head towards Bubbles as she straightened out her skirt again. It was just a very slight glance, but it said enough.

“Young lady,” the Judge continued, “I don’t know where you got the idea you could come into my court chewing gum and looking like that, but it is totally unacceptable behavior. I’m going to have the bailiff escort you out and we’ll reschedule the hearing for later this afternoon.”

With the admonishment rendered, the judge solemnly leaned back in her chair and motioned royally to Stanley. In response, Bubbles...well...Bubbles blew a bubble. A BIG bubble.

POP!!!! “Oh, WHATEVER!”

Again, I gotta say I LOVE that gal. And again it wasn’t my idea—not directly, anyway—I was too involved in planning my scene. But the orange members of the bench went crazy with laughter and it was the Judge’s turn to try on the cherry red face paint. Hell, for what it was worth, I think she looked damned fine. Very few women can pull off red, you know.

Even Bailey couldn’t hold it back and had to bring a hand to her mouth so no one would see Miss Lesbian ADA had a sense of humor. But I noticed. Like I keep saying, I notice EVERYTHING.

It might just be one of those court things, but I’d always wondered if real judges use gavels like they do on TV. That was the day I found out they do. Lady Judge Juliet started pounding away on her little desk in an effort to get the peanut gallery to shut up and it only took about two minutes to get everything back nice and orderly. Well, nice, anyway. Orderly is loooooong way off, so long as yours truly is anywhere around.

“I will NOT, I repeat NOT have this kind of behavior in my court! Bailiff will escort both counsels to the deliberation room at once, where I will weight contempt charges, Miss Kramer!!!”

And with that, her Majesty Meredith rose in a huff and started out the back door, stopping only to go back and retrieve her glasses. Still smiling, but trying her best not to show it, Bailey collected her things and followed. Me, I stayed behind to pat my attorney on the back for a job well done. She nibbled my ear again and I grabbed the gum out of her mouth again. I looked around and noticed a lot of sad faces. Evidently, some of the fraternity of defenders—not to mention the gang in orange—were expecting more. Good. Very good. Unfortunately, Stanley had to break up the reunion as he sadly came to take Bubbles away.

As they left, I noticed the doubles must have finally caught up with Old George, because he was snoring away on the back bench. If it weren’t for their love of law and order (or something), the orange gang could have waltzed right out of that courtroom and no one would have been the wiser. But they and their lawyers just sat around staring at the judge’s bench, waiting for her to get back. I know lawyers are boring by nature, but I expected more from hard-working criminals. Oh, well.

As for myself, I couldn’t stand all that excitement, so after five or so minutes of sitting around looking at comatose lawyers, I decided to try and find out where this big legal pow wow was being held.

It didn’t take long.

Miss Judge Juliet was still very mucho pissed and her voice really carried down the empty hallway. About three doors down, I saw Stanley keeping guard, so I sauntered up and nudged him in the ribs.

“Hey, Stan, how’s it hanging? Or does it even hang anymore?”

“Uh, what are you doing out of the courtroom?”

“Damn, it’s boring back there. Don’t you ever get bored hanging around lawyers and judges all the time?”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“I mean, there’s gotta be SOMETHING interesting that goes on around here.”

“Well, not really, but...”

“Have you ever been in the Judge’s chambers?”

“Yeah, a few times, but...”

“What does she wear under those robes?”

“How should I know?”

“You mean you’ve never, ever thought about it?”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“C’mon, Stan, I bet you’ve snuck a few peeks in there when she wasn’t around.”

“Uh, no, that would be...”

“Oh, c’mon, Stan, you can tell me.”

“No, really, I...”

“I bet she’s a lesbian.”

“NO.”

“Davenport’s a lesbian.”

“NO.”

“Yeah, she is. Bubbles told me.”

“And how would she know?”

“She was having an affair with Bailey’s husband.”

“NO.”

“Yeah. But he broke it off.”

Geez, what a bore. Even I couldn’t make a conversation with this guy exciting and I was pretty much working both ends. What can I say? Even a guy like me needs the raw materials. But I got him thinking and I guess that was something.

“Hey, Stan, aren’t you curious about what’s going on in there?”

“Yeah, but...”

“I bet Davenport’s gonna put the moves on Bubbles.”

“NO. Anyone can see they hate each other.”

“Yeah, but that’s only what it LOOKS like.”

“NO. You can’t fake that kind of stuff.”

“Look, I’ll make you a bet.”

“What kind of bet?”

“I bet you they get it on in there.”

“Oh, that’s silly. The Judge is in there.”

“Yeah, but she likes to watch.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re on.”

“OK, but we’ll need some impartial jurors.”

“Hey, I can go back and get the lawyers....”

“We might need a full panel.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ll get the convicts too.”

“Uh, Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“They haven’t been convicted yet.”

“Oh, yeah, but they will be. In Bailey’s court, they always are, " he smiled as he headed down the hallway to round up the jurors.

“What a maroon,” I said to myself as I slipped inside the room.

Whoever was looking out for me was still on the job. This deliberation room must have been one of those places where juries go when they’re deciding really big issues, because the whole room was built around a really big table. I mean, a REALLY big round table with over a dozen chairs all around. Kind of like what I imagine King Arthur had way back when, except I doubt he ever had one pissed off judge and two knockout gorgeous lawyers sitting around his. Or maybe he did. I wasn’t around back then, so I can’t say.

Anyway, I peeked into the room, and Judge Porn Star was still exercising her authority in pretty loud tones, while Bubbles was sitting with her pumps propped up on the opposite end of the table, filing her nails and humming something that sounded suspiciously like the Barber of Seville. That’s when I got to thinking that I must have projected a lot more of myself into her than I realized, ‘cause I’m almost sure it wasn’t true love. Not this boy. Bailey was sitting next to the judge, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else, bopping criminals or boffing beauty queens or whatever lesbian lawyers did in their spare time back then.

Mr. Chuckles and I, well we were ready to party.

“...and don’t think for one moment that I won’t lock you up, because I will! Are you listening to a word I’m saying?!”

Smack. Smack.

I dunno how she did it, but somehow she had found ANOTHER piece of gum. I’m as stubborn as they come, but I started thinking that was one fight I wasn’t going to win. Some forces of nature, you just can’t beat.

The judge put both her hands on her head and sighed. Bailey, on the other hand, had apparently had enough.

“I don’t know why you bother, Meredith. Why don’t you just give her the citation and be done with it?”

“Bailey, you know I have a reputation to maintain.”

Bubbles perked up. “Hah! Yeah, you know, a reputation as a lesbo lover.” Smack.

The Judge looked genuinely perplexed. “Now, look young lady, you’re in enough trouble already...”

“No, you’re, like, the one in trouble. Smack. There’s a table between me and the cunt-muncher. You’re, like, sitting right next to her. Smack. I hope you’ve got, like, a good strong pair of panties on...” Smack.

I could tell she was reluctant, but nevertheless, she turned to Bailey. “What the hell is she talking about, councilor?

Bailey was doing a slow burn. Even though I’d seen something like it hundreds of times before, I never got tired of it. “The little trailer trash is just bitter because she’s not even woman enough to take a man away from a dyke.”

“Oh, like, how does it feel to have to suck his dick just to buy your clothes?” Smack.

“Hah! At least I BUY my clothes. Somewhere there’s a naked fifth-grader wondering who STOLE hers.”

“Does he, like, make you get on top or do you just close your eyes and pretend he’s a dildoe?”

Smack.

“Is that your real voice, or did you swallow a helium tank?”

“Muff mouth”

“Grade whore.”

“Is it, like, true what they say, Judge? Smack. Is her tongue as good as her conviction rate?

That did it. Evidently, Miss Bailey Davenport had no problems with her sexuality. Her profession, however...

In one amazingly fluid motion, she whipped off her Armani jacket and jumped on the table.

“All right, you little asshole, you’ve had this one coming for over a year now! I’m going to take that gum and shove it so deep, the CORONER won’t even be able to find it!”

For her part, Bubbles, well, Bubbles had been waiting for this for quite a while, I’m guessing.

More like an educated guess, seeing as how she was up on her part of the table before Bailey’s thousand dollar jacket even hit the floor. As for the Judge, well she was still trying to make sense of it all.

Not a problem, really. I was more than happy to help.

As she was standing at the edge of the table with her gavel out and wondering what the hell was going on in the back of her courthouse, I ambled up and put my arm around her. Now normally, I figure she’d take offense at that, but this wasn’t exactly your normal situation and the armed enforcer of everything that is right and good in the courtroom, namely Stanley, wasn’t anywhere around. So she’s got to decide what to do and doesn’t have a lot of time to do it, considering two normally mild-mannered attorneys were seconds away from getting bloody on one another on top of her deliberation table. Not exactly something that happens every day. So I figured she needed some advice and, as you know by now, I give some really GOOD advice.

So I put my arm around her and told her she ought to do what comes naturally, seeing as she’s a judge and all. Since she was obviously not going to be able to stop these two, she might as well make sure it was a fair fight.

That settled, we were thinking the formal rules of catfighting might’ve applied here, except as far as either of us knew there WERE no formal rules for catfighting. Go figure. In any case, we finally decided that even if there WERE formal rules for catfighting, this one probably wouldn’t have followed ‘em anyway because it was more like a cat/kitten fight. A really, pissed-off, kitten, maybe, but Davenport had 8 inches and at least thirty pounds on Bubbles back then. Not exactly fair, but since Bubbles pretty much asked for it, we couldn’t figure any way to make up the difference.

Geez, sorry for the distraction. It didn’t seem to take that long in real time, but maybe it did. It all happened so fast and I was pretty busy convincing the Judge that she’d better take off her robe if she wanted to be able to move around the table properly. We didn’t miss much, though, ‘cause by the time we got back to the table, the cat and kitten were still circling around each other, hissing and clawing and parading around like this was Court TV’s version of the WWF or something. All that was missing was Vince McMahon and an audience.

Well, OK, really only McMahon.

Because about that time, Stanley came back, leading the lawyers and the accused whooping and hollering into the room. After fifteen minutes alone in that small, cramped, unexciting excuse for a courtroom, I guess even the boring boys in the suits were ready for a break. Immediately, most of ‘em threw off their jackets and fanned out around the table like they were in a Hooters or something.

In contrast, the orange gang pretty much sat down in the chairs and behaved themselves. Again, it made you wonder exactly who the bad guys were.

I felt a headache coming on, but Mr. Chuckles was really enjoying the show now. The Judge had climbed up onto the table and placed herself between the two women. Slowly, but surely, the lawyers, one by one, took off their neckties and started waving them around their heads. What a bunch of goofs. But at least they were on the right side.

“Bubbles!”

“Bubbles!”

“Bubbles!”

Came the chant. That seemed to put the spark in Bubbles as she suddenly jumped towards her opponent and, with one swift motion of her recently filed nails, managed to rip all but one of the buttons from the front of Bailey’s blouse. The crowd went wild and a rainbow’s worth of garishly colored ties flew across the table from all sides.

Shame on her. Bailey Davenport, Assistant District Attorney, Servant of the People, wore no bra. Must have had a hot date after court. No wonder she looked like she wanted to be somewhere else. She DID want to be somewhere else. Especially at that particular moment.

But she wasn’t. So she did the next best thing, and grabbed both ends of her dangling blouse with both hands, doing her best to cover herself. Which of course, left her wide open when Bubbles took hold of that cinnamon hair, twisted her around by it and gave her a swift knee right in the butt. That sent the ADA falling to the table with a loud thud. Momentarily dazed, the woman wasn’t able to prevent one of the lawyers from taking what was left of her blouse as a souvenir. It also allowed Bubbles to grab the waistline of those Armanis and pull for all she was worth. She managed to snap the button, but Armani zippers must be tough mothers to crack as they stayed up around her waist. I guess she wasn’t going to be content with pounding her rival into submission. She wanted to humiliate her also.

Evidently sensing this, Miss ADA Davenport managed to spin herself around on the table until she was face up and kicked Bubbles hard in one leg. Bubbles crashed to the table and sat there holding her leg with both hands, crying in pain. A hush fell over the crowd as Bailey walked on her knees over behind Bubbles and put her in a necklock with one arm and ripped her blouse open with the other. OK, so I at least knew Bubbles wasn’t wearing a bra. Hell, she didn’t need one, her boobs were so tiny.

Nevertheless, it drew a delighted gasp from the peanut gallery. The lawyers must have found this fight highly arousing, because most of them now had their pants all the way down and were playing with themselves. The accused just sat there in their chairs watching the whole thing with a kind of detached amusement. It was like nekkid female lawyer wrestling wasn’t exciting enough for them. Or something.

[[[So my defense attorney was in a bad way at that moment, topless and being held in a sleeper hold by her rival, the gorgeous, near-nude, lesbian Assistant District Attorney on the deliberation table in a back room of the county courthouse. That sentence was a recap for those of you who are scrolling down to get to the good parts. You aren’t there yet. Keep scrolling.]]]

Now, like I said, I notice things other people don’t and at that moment I chose to notice that with all the jostling and tearing and rending going on, those darned Armani shades were STILL hanging on the tip of Bailey’s nose. Amazing, simply amazing. Like a part of her character design or something.

Anyway, while the judge pranced around the table looking at this scene from different angles to make sure Bailey wasn’t cheating, one of the accused came to life, snuck up behind the ADA and grabbed the waistline of her pants, evidently trying to finish what Bubbles started. This got the judge all upset and she swung that gavel just like the God of Thunder himself and darned near whacked his fingers into the next room. The crowd started booing really loudly and another one of the orange gang decided he was going to try and wrest the hammer of the law from Her Honor. He grabbed it tightly while another one did the same to her blouse, meaning that she had to make a decision. They really teach love of the law above all else at Judge School, obviously, because she held on to that gavel with both hands like it was her firstborn while her blouse ripped into five or six pieces. Then she fell off the table into an orange sea.

I guess Bailey was wrong after all. Judge Meredith wasn’t Bailey’s date, I figure, because she wore a bra. Yellow, with tiger stripes, even. Never seen anything like it before or since. Needless to say, Mr. Chuckles was pleased.

Unfortunately for Bailey, though, with the judge busy, it meant no one was keeping the fight fair. And one of the lawyers decided he’d take a cue from both Bubbles and the orange gang and grabbed the back of Bailey’s pants yet again. Armanis might be tough, but this pair was definitely outnumbered. Tag-teamed and trying to hold onto what little dignity she had left, Bailey let go of Bubbles to try and turn around and keep her designers up with both hands. Bad decision, as it turned out, because Bubbles wasn’t nearly as hurt as she’d let on and she immediately grabbed the ADA by the neck with both hands and started choking. A definite no-no if I ever get around to writing up formal rules for catfighting. It’s too darned effective, especially if you have two law partners each pulling on a pants leg at the same time. All Bailey could do was gasp mightily and bring both hands back to her neck to try and pry those hands loose. Which meant, of course, that the Armanis were down around her feet in no time flat. Guess what...?

When I rule the world, I’m going to outlaw plain white panties. Just because. Anyone caught wearing them, man or woman, is going to be hanged on public television. Law enforcement officials will be hanged twice. There, I said it.

Well, OK, except for little girls. And Bubbles. And only because they just look so darned cute on Bubbles.

Which is, by the way, how Bailey got out of her dire predicament. As a lesbian, I guess she was pretty good at getting women out of their clothes, because she suddenly changed tactics. Instead of trying to loosen Bubbles’ grip around her neck, she grabbed Bubbles’ skirt and ripped it away. Strangely enough, though, Bubbles didn’t seem terribly put off by this and continued to play John Philip Souza on the ADA’s windpipe until those evil green eyes were actually bulging out bigger than the lenses in those four-hundred dollar glasses.

Friend, it was NOT a pretty sight. Even the lawyers stopped stroking for a few seconds while Bailey, her face now redder than the nails around her throat, made her last, desperate, bid for life, liberty and prosecutorial justice. Yet another of those things I’m going to outlaw when I get around to writing the formal rules of catfighting.

Rule #2: No combatant, at any time, shall stick her hand down her opponent’s underwear and diddle her clitoris.

Just like the choking maneuver above, it’s just too darned effective. And unfair.

And, besides, it’s just, well, icky.

But, what the hell, Bubbles violated unofficial rule #1, so any fair-minded judge would probably see it as fair to violate rule #2 in response. Besides, in this particular case, the judge was too busy trying to keep her gavel and her clothes from a bunch of sex-starved defendants, but I’ll get back to her in a few minutes.

So, anyway, Bailey found she could breathe again because Bubbles suddenly got this really, really, strange look on her face. Though I wouldn’t think it was possible, her eyes even got bigger than Bailey’s and her face got redder than Bailey’s. I thought at first it was because she had swallowed her gum, but no such luck.

She immediately brought both of her hands down to her panties to repel the invader, but found the invader wasn’t going anywhere. Bailey might have been new at the catfighting thing, but she was a 69th degree black belt at the old “hand in the panties” maneuver and could perform it flawlessly even when big-eyed, red-faced, and out of breath. Now that I think of it, that’s probably when she’s BEST at it. But anyway...

Not being able to pry Bailey’s hand loose, Bubbles started waving her arms all around like she was having a seizure or something and obviously didn’t know WHAT the hell to do next. Though both of Bubbles’ arms were free, this particular secret lesbian technique was obviously more powerful than the sleeper hold used on her earlier, and Bailey started pressing her advantage—among other things. And when she leaned over and took one of Bubbles’ perky little nipples in her mouth and started lightly sucking, it was obvious to everyone that the momentum had swung back in her favor—Bubbles’ head started swaying like a cobra caught in the music and the lawyers all stopped whooping and started oooing and awwwing in hushed tones. They didn’t stop stroking, mind you, just weren’t so damned enthusiastic about it. But it was obvious to everyone that Bubbles wasn’t going to come out on the winning end of this one unless she somehow managed to reach down deep inside herself to find a way to counter this dreaded secret rite, undoubtedly passed down from mother to daughter, sister to sister, through the vast mists of time from the ancient history of the Isle of Lesbos.

Or whatever.

But, the fucking bottom line is, Bubbles was in quite a fix.

So, of course, I’m going to tell you what was happening with the Judge.

Last we saw her, if you remember, she had fallen off the table and into the crowd of defendants, all dressed in orange. The defendants, not the Judge. Well, to make a long story short—yeah, yeah, I know we’re long past that point now—when they were finished with her she was standing there in a matching Simba and Kimba bra and panty set. Finally, a woman of the law with some imagination. But, hey, I’d expect no less from Aunt Peg. Kind of redeemed my faith in the justice system, I must say.

And while it might have been an unruly mob of accused convicts, they did leave her with her gavel as well as her legal briefs. And her glasses. And her dignity. Well, most of her dignity, anyway. She’d have to give the rest of that up her own self.

So I decided that was as good a time as any to show I do so have a chivalrous streak and I rushed over and chased all the convicts away from her. Well, OK, so most of them were actually pretty bored with her and were more interested in the fight once they’d humiliated her sufficiently, and when Stanley threatened to draw his gun they all ran to the other side of the table. But I was the one who gave him the idea. I’m more an idea man than a man of action. I leave that kind of thing to Mr. Chuckles.

Speaking of Mr. Chuckles, he was out now, and in fine form. Her Judgeship was shaking all over, obviously terrified by her experiences on the other side of the bench, as it were. So Stanley and I helped her over to the table because, shaken or not, she still had a job to do, darn it, and Bubbles really needed someone to look after her interests at that moment. She was obviously being subdued by an ancient, exotic form of lesbian catfight cheating, her eyes growing dimmer, her breathing deep and labored, and her mouth was uttering smallish, whimpering moans instead of smacking gum like a normal healthy Bubbles mouth should’ve be doing.

Of course, the fact that Bailey had those cute white panties down around her ankles and was eating away on her pussy might have something to do with it. Man, that woman worked fast. Not much in the way of preliminary motions for Miss Bailey Davenport, no sir, it was right to the trial. And all this while Bubbles was still standing up, too. I dunno what I marveled at more, the fact that Bubbles could stay standing under the strain of such a ghastly maneuver or that Bailey could bend backwards that far on her hands and knees and twirl her tongue like that all at the same time. It looked humanly impossible. I pointed it out to the judge and she agreed she needed to get a closer look at that one to see if it was legal or not.

So Stanley and I helped her up onto the table, but not before Stanley accidentally snapped the clasp on her tiger bra. Well, at least I think it was an accident because he looked pretty embarrassed afterwards as he folded it up and stuffed it under his shirt. Probably the most daring thing he’d done in his entire life. Fucking loser.

I gotta admit, I almost—ALMOST—didn’t notice him doing that because Mr. Chuckles was busy admiring Her Judgeship’s dockets. Really large Dorothy Strattens, she had, complete with big, puffy nipples. I LOVE puffy nipples. Absolutely, positively, adore them. Mr. Chuckles saw ‘em and began to get really, really disturbed at how slowly this whole thing was going. Strange, too, because patience was usually his strong point. I was getting a monster headache too, but, dammit, you just can NOT rush good art. It’s gotta come out on its own, even if it kills you. But enough of that.

Anyway, Judge Meredith was crawling on her hands and knees with her gavel to get a closer look at Davenport’s Amazing Amazon Back-Breaking, Tongue-Twirling, Lesbian Cunt-Chewing Maneuver (TM), while Bubbles, still dazed and confused, swayed back and forth on her feet, looking very much like a bowlegged cowgirl riding a hobby horse that’s just a teeny bit too small for her. Hard to say how much she was standing and how much Bailey was supporting, if you know what I mean. The lawyers, sensing a pivotal moment, all gathered closer and started actually getting up on the table, an obscene circle of shuffling knees and pumping fists. Just like in the cop car a few nights back, I could almost hear the cheezy porno music start up in the background. The orange gang gathered closer also, their organs out, playing along with their attorneys. It was one of those really rare courthouse Kumbaya moments, let me tell you.

But, alas, it didn’t look good for the home team, boys and girls. Bubbles’ eyes were almost closed now, her hands lightly moving across her breasts and her face flush with something other than anger for a change. It looked very much like she was close to surrendering to her hated rival, and in more ways than one. Her heart rate and pulse were quickening, but, more importantly to those of us in the know, her gum smack rate was down to about two per minute. And they were getting so soft as to be barely audible. It was do or die time and she looked very much like she was going to die in the very best Shakespearean manner.

Somewhere beneath a pair of four-hundred dollar Armani shades, two green eyes were twitching with excitement. She didn’t even have to reach for her own golden spot to bring the smell into the room, it came simply from thinking about turning this weak little kitten into a genuine cat. So close. So close.

But, then again, she wasn’t writing this particular scene, was she?

If I may be so bold as to steal from the pre-imminent poet of our time:

“Then plain little Stan did a plain little thing—

“He came, and his cum shook the throne of the queen.”

It was like the whole room stopped totally dead and all eyes turned to Stanley, who was still groaning and moaning like he’d never had an orgasm in his whole life. Then, again, maybe he hadn’t. But this one certainly made up for it. White stuff was flying everywhere and a bit of it, just a tiny bit, mind you, managed to make it onto the table and hit ADA Bailey Davenport on her right foot.

It was like kryptonite and Superman. Holy water and Dracula. Truth and politicians. You’d have thought Dr. Laura herself had come up and grabbed her by the ankle, the way Bailey suddenly started howling and writhing about on the table, grabbing her foot and letting out words that weren’t in any dictionary I’d ever heard of. It was pretty brutal.

It was also exactly what Bubbles needed to shake herself out of whatever lesbo voodoo hypno shit she’d been put under. Her eyes flashed open, her arms and legs firmed up, and she let out with a tremendous series of gum smacks just to remind us of how annoying it really was. But, hey, my schoolyard lawyer was herself, once again. I could almost swear I heard Wagner playing in the background.

She immediately got her bearings and saw Bailey lying on the table, desperately wiping Stanley’s DNA from between her toes. Bubbles let out with a yell as she leapt up into the air and landed with a muted thud, her butt right on top of the ADA’s face. Davenport, obviously still smarting somewhat from Stanley’s sperm and semen sneak attack, didn’t see it coming and got caught with her Armanis down, as it were. Funny thing about those shades—they were STILL on her face and didn’t show any signs of structural damage whatsoever from either the Amazing Amazon Cunt-Chewing Maneuver, OR Bubbles’ Bodacious Butt Flop. I made a mental note to write a letter to the advertising department as to a potential ad campaign...

So Bailey was lying there stunned by the man/woman DNA double-team and Bubbles took advantage by grinding her butt so hard onto Bailey’s face that the ADA’s shoulders were pinned to the table. Instinctively, Judge Meredith dropped to her knees and rapped her gavel on the table.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

But Bailey wasn’t quite done yet and lifted her right shoulder at the last second. Even a lesbian has too much pride, I guess, when pinned to the floor by another woman if it’s in front of an audience of men. Just a few minutes ago, she seemed fine with the situation. I think it’s a Bailey thing. Even when following a script, she didn’t like to lose. A lot like me, actually. Very strong, this one.

But not nearly strong enough.

Bubbles renewed her effort and once again pinned Bailey’s shoulders to the floor. This time, however, there was an unanimous verdict in the courtroom. All the jurors, orange and blue and green and fleshy—mostly fleshy by this time—rose to their knees on the perimeter of King Arthur’s Round Table of Catfighting and chanted as one.

“Bubbles!”

“Bubbles!”

“Bubbles!”

And just as nude Lady Judge Meredith’s gavel thundered down a third time in succession, the air was filled, absolutely ribboned with white streamers celebrating the victory of good schoolyard lawyer Bubbles Kramer over the representative of the state, the evil and wicked Queen of Conviction, Bailey Davenport. Bubbles smiled broadly, loudly smacked her gum and raised both hands in a celebratory hand clasp as she was showered with ticker tape the likes of which the New York Yankees will never experience.

Well, OK, most of ‘em would probably consider it a nightmare. But for me, it was THE money shot. “One Froggy Evening.” “Talk Dirty to Me.” “Bubbles, Bailey and the Boys.” Director’s nirvana.

Just in time, too. That headache had turned into the fucking Grand Canyon of all headaches. Problem was, Mr. Chuckles wasn’t satisfied.

And NO one around me gets to be happy until Mr. Chuckles is happy.

Luckily for us, Her Judgeship was still pretty grateful we saved her from the orange gang and she showed her appreciation by proving Bubbles wrong yet again. No lesbian gives head that good. It was so good, in fact, that Mr. Chuckles came very close to achieving his own nirvana of sorts. But, alas, still no luck coughing up in her mouth. So close. May have been the headache. Or maybe she just wasn’t high enough on the law chain. Something to ponder later, I thought to myself, as Meredith turned around and offered her lovely ass. Mr. Chuckles was only happy to accept.

As we went about our business, I couldn’t help but look around. It’s amazing what folks will do when left to their own devices after watching a good fight. Bubbles and Bailey were pretty much in the same position they were in when the fight ended, except that Bubbles didn’t seem to mind that Bailey was having fun at her expense. Maybe her victory was the first step in healing old wounds. Wouldn’t that be something?

Bailey must have felt somewhat like a broken stallion, laying there contentedly munching away while the defense attorneys took turns at her trough. Or maybe, like kryptonite, all that sticky ticker tape glistening off her nude body zapped her strength and will to resist. I dunno. In any case, I noticed with amazement that, with all the cum on her, not a single drop stuck to those Armanis. Not a single drop. I could almost imagine flocks of researchers in France or wherever getting together to recreate this particular experiment in order to verify another potential ad campaign. On second thought, it would have to be France. Only in France...

The guys in orange stood around and all looked glum. I figured they must’ve all been guilty after all, which is why none of ‘em could go back for seconds.

And Stanley. Poor Stanley. He sat over in a corner, apparently unable to get it up again despite everything going on around him. I might have helped him if it weren’t for that damned headache, which was getting almost unbearable now.

But, hey, I thought, as Mr. Chuckles finally coughed up, just about everyone else ended up happy. Bubbles finally got revenge on her rival. Bailey got to munch on a cunt that hadn’t ever been munched on by a lesbian before. The defense lawyers got to munch on the ADA with the highest conviction rate in the city. Mr. Chuckles got to fuck Aunt Peg with glasses.

And me? Me, I got a money shot that Mr. Anthony Spinelli could only DREAM about.

Unfortunately, that was pretty much the last thing I thought about on that particular day. OK, maybe not the very last thing. The VERY last thing I thought about as the gopher chewing his way through my head turned the lights out on me was that I was never, EVER going to do a big budget scene again. Strictly B-pictures from now on. It’s what I’m best at.