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The prompt photo seems to depict a courtroom scene, evidenced by the fact that the file name is “objection your honor”. Obviously the sexy woman in the hat is the defendant, and I took the sunglasses-wearing gentleman on the left to be the “world-famous” defense attorney to which I refer in the second paragraph. I’m not sure why he’s wearing sunglasses indoors.
The requirements for this particular challenge include the use of the phrase “…”two-fisted…”, and a maximum word count of 255. I was aware of the required phrase as an expression meaning “virile” or “ready to fight”. However, I think my usage fits the story nicely. As for the word count, I originally brought the story in at 256, but changed the final sentence of the second paragraph from “…the physical evidence found at the scene of the crime said that his client wasn’t getting off this time” to “…the physical evidence found at the scene of the crime said his client wasn’t getting off this time.”
You can probably tell from my story that I know very little about the American justice system, save that it appears to be inherently flawed. But I think I’ve watched enough television to write something serviceable.
Deleted Scenes
None.
Soundtrack
I like the way the dulcet sounds of the Five Keys’ early 1950s song “There Ought to Be a Law” plays against the unorthodox goings-on in the otherwise staid setting of this story. On the other hand, “Guilty as Charged”, by early 1980s rock band Culprit, provides a nihilistic, fast-paced feel that fits the action well. Either way, the familiar “banging gavel” sound effect from TV’s Law & Order should accompany the prosecutor’s climax.
The main theme at The Naughty Hangout this week is “Bridge”. We’ve done a couple photo posts involving a bridge, including a previous installment of TNH, and our final HNT post. So we thought we’d skip the main theme and tackle one of the backup themes, either “Unfinished” or “Letting Go”. In the end I couldn’t help but share this picture of the Golden Gate Bridge at dusk that I took a year or so ago.
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If you mouse over the above picture you’ll see another image which represents “Unfinished”. Jill and I were hoping to have sex once the baby was asleep, but as you can see, her work schedule has taken its toll on her. We’ve got some unfinished business, wouldn’t you say?
I squeezed the bottle with both hands, but there was absolutely no give. It was cold, too. Ice cold. Drops of moisture held fast to the outside, while the water on the inside had long since become solid.
“What do you think?” I asked him.
“It’s been in there for four hours. It’s as frozen as it’s going to get.”
I got a couple towels from the rack in the bathroom and lay them down on the bed. “Let’s do this, then.”
Jack tried using a pair of scissors first, but it proved too difficult to cut into the plastic with them. The mouth of the bottle was too thick, or maybe it was the angle. At any rate, the ice within made it near impossible to start cutting, not without ruining our new toy.
“Want to get a knife from the kitchen?” I asked him. He shook his head. In his nightstand drawer was a pocket knife. He unfolded it and ran the blade along the bottle’s surface. A few back-and-forth motions with the knife and the plastic split, creating a narrow gap. Jack gently worked his fingers in, then peeled the plastic open.
What lay within was a beautiful dildo crafted of ice. Jack held it aloft, presenting it to me. “There’s a scrach right there,” he said, pointing to an area where the knife had grazed the ice. It didn’t matter, of course. Neither of us was expecting it to survive more than a couple hours.
I sat down on the bed, fishing through the top drawer of my nightstand for my bullet. I had been looking forward to this for so long. I lay down on the towel, looking up at the ceiling and clutching the tiny bullet as Jack got between my legs.
He began with a little head, licking and lapping at my swollen and very aroused clit. Not enough for orgasm, of course, just enough to get me sufficiently aroused to take this icy beast. Which now that I think of it was significantly wider than Jack’s cock.
His breath was hot against my lips, his tongue even hotter. As his tongue stroked me I felt my temperature rising. This was short lived.
“Get ready,” he said suddenly. “This is going to be cold.” I turned on the bullet and held it on my clit. But the shock of the ice as it bit at my sex was so great that I dropped it. It hit the towel on which I lay and buzzed along the bed. Jack picked it up and handed it to me.
I replaced the humming toy on my aching clit. I bit my lip as I felt intense cold against my opening. I thought my heart was going to stop as my pussy opened to accomodate it. Jack pushed it in a little farther, and then a little farther. Before I knew it, it was inside me.
Despite my initial discomfort, I gradually became used to having a dildo made of solid ice inside me. He worked it in and out of me just as he might any sort of object. I kept a tight grip on the bullet as well, holding it on my engorged bud as Jack pushed me closer and closer to the brink of the coldest climax I had ever enjoyed. But only one.
When it was all over, and I lay quivering on damp towels, Jack quickly withdrew the ice dildo from my depths. It was much smaller now, and I realized that most of the wetness pooling beneath my ass was actually water, and not my juices. He got up from the bed and placed it in the bathroom sink.
I was sad, when I woke the next morning, to find it gone.
This week’s TMI Tuesday questions are about gettin’ off. When you need it, you just gotta get it anyway you can. (For those who are innocent babies “IT” is sex)
We’ll be shopping for a new bed soon, ideally something with a sturdy frame, crafted from solid wood. If it’s got tie points, even better.
Let me back up a bit. On Saturday morning, I took our daughter to a birthday party. We were out until the afternoon, and by the time we got home she was sound asleep, and Jack was very horny. I put the baby to bed, and Jack and I retired to our own bed.
We made out for awhile, and Jack fingered me. Then he slipped down between my thighs and gave me head while I rubbed my clit. I came hard, so forcefully that I could see my wetness all over his face.
I needed him to fuck me. For some reason, we did it in the reverse of our usual orientation, with our heads at the foot of the bed, and our feet at the head. We’ve done this before, but it isn’t typical. We started off with me riding him in cowgirl position. I tend to ride really hard, like Jack is a mechanical bull and I’m a drunken city girl at a country bar in cut-off shorts and cowboy boots. I grind hard against Jack, my hips and my ass undulating as I moan or even scream. Jack seems to like this.
As I rode him, I played with my clit. I’d already had a very intense orgasm, and my actions were partially for show. But when he noticed what I was doing Jack put his own hand into the mix and got me off quickly. As my climax hit me I collapsed on top of him, my undulations gradually slowing to a halt. I lowered my mouth to his and he gently bit my bottom lip, sending a jolt straight to my still-quivering, still-dripping pussy.
When my heartbeat returned to normal, Jack wanted to be on top. I took his place on the mattress and spread my legs wide for him. He fucked me like it was the first time, or the last time. The only word that comes to mind to describe his movements is “pounding”. He’s pounded me before, of course. But this was something altogether different.
By this point, we’d moved the mattress about six inches from the wall. It felt like the mattress was sliding off of the box spring, but looking at my mirrored closet doors they were perfectly lined up. In the mirror, Jack did notice that the head of the bed was rising off of the ground. That should have been a red flag, but it wasn’t. After all, the foot of the bed, where our heads were, didn’t seem to be dipping at all.
Suddenly we heard a crack and lurched forward.
“We broke the bed,” one of us said. I don’t remember if it was me, or if I heard Jack say it. But it was true! We had broken our bed! We stopped fucking and got up to assess the damage. Sure enough, one of the legs was broken, hanging by a thread from the rest of the frame.
-Jack
The last time I was the subject of a Sinful Sunday post, it got a very positive response, likely due to the fact that I look pretty good in a suit. (If you haven’t seen it, head right over and check it out.) Seeking to capture lightning in a bottle, we’re doing something similar this week.
