Shellys story
- 2 years ago
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Shelly's Trial free porn video
For those readers who missed the first installment:
First, PAY ATTENTION. I'm working my ass off writing this shit and you're off somewhere getting laid or going to the Spring Auto Show or something. Get your priorities straight. Second, you need a synopsis, which means I have to write the whole fucking story over again and bore the shit out of people who've already read Part 1. Have a little consideration.
SYNOPSIS: Shelly was an uptight bitch who was married to an investment banker. Their marriage was on the rocks; sex problems, don't you know. Seems she bit his dick during a blow job and he reacted badly. Go figure. Anyway, she needed someone to talk to, and after spending a few hours with my wife decided to get a male perspective and talked to me.
We had one brief encounter at a bar where I tried to break down some inhibitions during our two hour tete-a-tete. Then I visited her at her house and jerked off on her.
The story was better the first time I told it. Honest.
The last time I had seen a courtroom was at least 10 years ago. I tried to fight a speeding ticket but lost. Big surprise. Courtrooms hadn't changed much, apparently. This one was very big and very dark and very official looking. I was intimidated.
Of course I was here in the worst of circumstances. I was named in the Shulman divorce proceedings. Edward Shulman's lawyer had subpoenaed me to testify. So I sat meekly in the back, dreading the moment when my name would be called, anxious to get this over with and get back to my life. And my wife. If she would have me.
I had made a full confession to June. She knew about Shelly and Edward's marriage, naturally. She had practically given Shelly permission to talk with me. June didn't know how Shelly and I had fallen together, of course, until I got the subpoena. Then I had to tell her the whole story, at least up to that point. More would follow, and even June wouldn't know all of those sordid details. Ever.
I heard Edward Shulman on the stand, testifying about how he had discovered his wife's infidelity. It seems he noticed a change in her behavior that made him suspicious. Like she started dressing sexy. Started grabbing at his crotch in the morning before he woke up. Using foul language at inappropriate moments. All things I had suggested to her to perk up her marriage. All bright ideas from my very own mouth. And now I was in court. I was 'hoist by my own petard', to quote the Bard.
"For instance," said his attorney.
"One time she said she was wet for me," Edward parroted. "Right in the middle of a restaurant. Now if you knew my wife, you would know that she would never do something like that. Never."
"Then you knew something had changed," the attorney said with conviction. He knew the answer to his own question, of course. They had rehearsed this for hours.
"Absolutely. That's when I called Johnson Video and had them install pinhole cameras in several rooms in the house. It wasn't long before I had the proof of her infidelity."
"Which I offer to the court as exhibits A, B, C, D, E, and F, your honor," Mr. $500-an-hour said. He handed a stack of videotapes to a clerk.
"So noted," said the judge.
"Didn't your wife wonder about the cameras in the house?" the suit asked.
"No, the cameras are tiny. And I told her I was putting a new satellite dish on the roof, one of those small jobs. She never even thought about it, apparently."
"And what do the tapes show?" the attorney asked.
"My wife having sex with another man. Sex in the living room. Sex in the bedroom. Sex in the den. Sex on my pool table. Sex under my pool table. Oral sex. Anal sex. Straight sex. Sometimes sex twice in one session."
Shelly and I had really gone at it, all right. Once her inhibitions broke she turned into a virtual sex machine. Well not a 'virtual' one, a real one. [Note to Authors: I was using "virtual" in the older sense of the word, as in "a powerful effect" not the more trendy computer use of the word as in "not real." Don't you just hate it when words change their meaning? That's why it's so hard to read fucking Milton anymore.]
"And how did it make you feel, knowing that your wife was having sex with another man?"
"Outraged." Sure. Like Mr. Investment Banker hadn't fucked hundreds of people in his climb to the top. [Note to Authors: I'm using "fucked" in the sense of betrayed, swindled, or abused, rather than in the sexual connotation of inserting a penis into a vagina. Perhaps you probably already knew that. Maybe I'll put the rest of these author's notes at the end of the piece, OK? They're a little distracting here.]
"And you took what action?"
"I contacted you and instituted proceedings for divorce."
Shelly, seated at her table with her attorney at the front of the courtroom, let out a sniffle.
Shelly's attorney had told me there wouldn't be much to the trial. They had us on videotape. Hours and hours of it. Perfect focus. Perfect light. The schmuck had popped for the top-of-the-line equipment; he even had infrared in one room! He could afford it. The best we could do was try to get a decent settlement for Shelly, which would be hard because there was a pre-nup and we didn't live in a community property state.
I had hoped for a settlement, of course, to avoid the embarrassment of a trial, but Edward the Schmuckhearted was trying to take her to the cleaners. So here I was. It was about 3:00. I heard my named called.
I was sworn; I sat down.
"Now Mr. Hunt, would you summarize just how your illicit relationship with Shelly Shulman began?"
I did. And it was a lot better than that shitty synopsis at the top of the story, I'll tell you. Of course, I had more than two paragraphs to work with. I told the story in about 10 minutes, without interruption. I wasn't really graphic though, since I didn't know what the boundaries of decorum were in a courtroom. When I was nearing the climax of the story, so to speak, I guess I got carried away and said, "So I was standing over her jerking off and my cum went all over her tits and..."
"Mr. Hunt!" the judge snapped angrily at me. "Please."
I guess that was a reprimand. I backed off. "Well, I relieved myself while she held her skirt up, and, uh, we just sort of got started from there. It certainly wasn't intentional. I was only trying to help her with her marriage. She was doing everything she could to keep it together..."
The Armani suit interrupted me, "You mean like sleeping with other people?"
"No, no. That just happened. Her husband was neglecting..."
He cut me off. "Describe for us some of your other sexual experience, please."
"I don't know what you mean," I said.
"Are you a recognized expert in the field?" he asked me.
"Oh no. Just a normal guy."
"More experience than average?" he wanted to know.
"Well, probably. I played the field pretty well when I was young." I didn't want to get into the details; I'd gotten laid a lot back then. Of course I had a lot of testosterone, so I had a good excuse. Still, it wasn't a period I was particularly proud of, although I had some vivid memories. "You know, like a lot of guys, I guess."
"No I don't know," he said. "Please tell me."
"Well I went out with a lot of girls."
"How many?" He was insistent. I was getting pissed.
"I have no idea." That was true. Including the Playboy photographer and lingerie scams it was over several dozen. Maybe way the fuck over. I mean I was no Wilt Chamberlin or anything. For one thing, I'm not black. And my dick is smaller. Probably. I have no first hand knowledge, of course. Of HIS dick, that is.
"Guess." He wouldn't let me go. I felt a rush of blood to my neck. When that happens my wife knows enough to leave me alone for a while. He didn't.
"Maybe a hundred. Maybe more." A gasp went up from the spectators. "But I was much younger then, and girls liked me. It wasn't my fault." Every man in the room knew what I was talking about. It's never your fault. It's that pesky dick. I continued to backpedal. "Maybe that's why Shelly was comfortable with me. I mean, that I had been around so many women." I was so pissed I almost said "IN so many women," but I caught myself.
The attorney didn't like me talking about Shelly in a sympathetic way. His job was to make her out to be the betraying wife. My job was to do the opposite, of course. She was an angel, recently fallen. But a good woman, helpmate, all that shit. He steered the conversation back to her sex escapades with me.
"Now please tell us about your next encounter with her." Shit. He wouldn't let go.
I spoke without thinking. "You mean when I fucked her or when she blew me?"
The judge smacked his gavel on the wooden block to try to get control of the room. "Mr. Hunt, that is absolutely out of order in this court. Do I make myself clear?" he said.
"I'm sorry your Honor," I replied. You can't win an argument with a judge. Ever. Even if the other attorney is being an asshole, which they are well paid to be. Most are quite good at it.
I related a couple of the encounters in the most generic and innocuous terms possible. The attorney objected. "Your Honor, he's being evasive. I think the court has a right, no a DUTY to know what went on in this illicit relationship for three months."
Now it was the judge's turn to ask a question. "Are you suggesting that we let Mr. Hunt here go into graphic detail about his sexual adventures with Mrs. Shulman? Graphic depictions of anal sex? Blow-by-blow descriptions of oral sex?" The courtroom broke up. He banged the gavel. "Order. Sorry, I guess I deserved that. Are you asking that I permit Mr. Hunt to ravage the decency of the court system with these obscene sexual descriptions?"
Mr. Smarty Pants lawyer realized he'd gone too far. "No, no, your Honor. But I think perhaps one illustration is in order."
The judge thought. "Perhaps. But I'm reserving final judgment on whether to allow it in the record, and on whether to allow it at all, depending on Mr. Hunt's demeanor. Is that understood by everyone?" The judge glared at me. I nodded.
The attorney turned to me. "Mr. Hunt. Please tell us how your adulterous relationship came to light."
This was the most ironic part. In spite of Edward's suspicions and his superduper video system, Shelly and I had been caught in public. In the car. In the park. By a park ranger.
"We were driving around talking about her progress, sexual and otherwise..." I glared at the lawyer. "... when I heard a strange noise come from the bottom of her car. Really loud. We happened to be in Frisk State Park at the time. It's a good place to drive around and not have to worry about some crazy kid pulling out of the McDonald's parking lot, you know? Anyway, she pulled over to the side of the road and I got out of the passenger side. I bent down on my hands and knees to look under the car to see to see what the noise was, to see if something was falling apart, or whatever, when suddenly Shelly came up behind me and jumped on my back.
"She was just being cute, I guess." I saw her blushing at her table. "But she started riding me like a horse. You know, like a kid would with his Grandpa. There was nothing sexual about it. But I was kneeling on gravel at the side of the road, and her weight forced one of the stones against my kneecap. It hurt me, and of course she was terribly sorry. Like I said, she was just fooling around."
"With a married man," the fucking asshole said.
"Yes, with me. I told you, it was just harmless fun." Up to that point, it was true. We hadn't done anything yet. That day, I mean. "I saw that a piece of brush had gotten lodged behind one of the wheels, and I pulled on it and it came out. But when I stood up my knee hurt like hell, and I hobbled back over to the car door.
I sat down in my seat, facing out, rubbing my knee. I tried pulling the pant leg up, but I was wearing a pair of Levi's that were pretty tight fitting, an older pair, 509's I think, and I couldn't get them up high enough to see my kneecap. Well, I was on the passenger side, so I wasn't facing the road, so she suggested that I drop my trousers and see if I had done any serious injury to myself. Like I said, there was nothing sexual about it."
"Sure," the jerk interjected. I tried to ignore him.
"So I did. The injury was serious, but not real serious. I mean, there was a little bit of blood, not that much, really. But I hadn't broken the kneecap or anything. By this time Shelly had walked back to her seat, then back to me. She stood in front of me, looking at my kneecap. Then it just sort of happened." It often did with the two of us. "She reached for me and took my, uh, well, she took me in her hand. I was just sitting there in my underpants, you understand, and, uh..."
The judge interrupted. He glared at the attorney. "Do we really need to hear all of this?" he demanded.
"It's vital to my client's case, your Honor." The judge knew what that meant. The attorney was laying rail for a possible reversible error. Judges hate that. Hizzoner waved his hand in a circular motion and said "Go on." He paused. "Be careful."
The attorney took the lead. "So she released you with her hand?" He knew better. He knew the whole story.
"No, we both got so excited, we decided to do it in the car."
"Do it?" he asked. "You mean, have sex."
"Yes." Fucking moron. What else? "She reached behind me and hit some button or other and the seat moved back. I guess her seats are electric."
The attorney leered knowingly.
"Then she stood up, pulled down her panties, and climbed up on top of me. She was sitting on my lap, uh, facing out the windshield. I had my hands on her, well, you get the picture. We made love for several minutes, and, uh, it was great..." I looked at her. She averted her eyes. "... but just then a car drove by, fairly slowly. It's a State Park and all and the speed limit is 15. Most people don't drive that, of course, but they still go slow. It's sort of a negotiation between the police and the drivers, I guess."
I was getting off on a tangent, and I knew it. I pulled myself back. "Both of us decided that it wasn't too smart, you know, making love with her sitting on my lap in a convertible on the side of a public road..."
"Congratulations," the dickhead said sarcastically.
"So we stopped. Except we didn't stop. When she got out she turned around and grabbed my, you know, thing, and then bent over, and then knelt down in front of me. What was I supposed to do?" There wasn't a guy in the courtroom who wouldn't have done exactly the same thing. "I swung around, and she positioned herself in front of me, and began to service me, uh, orally."
"Go on," he said.
"Well, that went on for a pretty long time, and it felt great, and I'm pretty sure she was enjoying it, too. She had just learned to, you know, put a man deep in her mouth, you understand? Real deep. All the way deep." I couldn't bring myself to say 'deep throat' in court. "And she was practicing. I guess that's why we got caught."
"I'm afraid I don't comprehend," the attorney said. "Perhaps you could explain?"
"Well, I was in her mouth, like I said. And she was on her knees at the side of the car. So she couldn't see anything, and I was so distracted. And as it happened the Ranger pulled up just as I blew my load right down her throat..."
The courtroom erupted. Again. The Judge banged his gavel, several times. "That is enough!" he snapped. "Mr. Hunt you are in contempt. This court is in recess. I'll see you in chambers."
"Uh oh," I thought. "I fucked up."
I walked down the hall behind the black robed symbol of Justice. I was flanked on my left by my attorney. It felt better having him there even though he's a lawyer. I hate lawyers. Did I mention that?
We entered the Judge's chambers, and he stomped over to his desk. He didn't even take off his robe as I expected him to. I walked in and took a chair next to the desk. I was facing the judge, my attorney took a seat behind me.
The judge looked at me angrily, and said, "Now Mr. Hunt. I'm going to show you to have some respect for my courtroom. I'm going to fine you within an inch of your paycheck! I might even recommend jail time!" I might..."
My lawyer spoke up. "Your Honor, with all due respect. I would remind the court that perhaps this is a decision not best made in haste or anger." [Note to Authors: Lawyers really talk like that. You can tell from my other stories that I wouldn't write shitty dialog like this unless that's how they really speak. They do! That's why you can never understand anything they write. They're even more fucked up when they have time to think about it.] [## Note to readers: I won't interrupt anymore. Promise. ##]
The judge seemed to settle. A little. He called for the court stenographer. It would take a minute or two for her to arrive.
"I suppose you're right. Let me catch myself here. I'll look at the evidence and then decide. But I'm telling you, I think you've made a mockery of this institution and I won't have it." He went on to lecture me for another three minutes, telling me how fair he was going to be before he shafted me. Swell.
The steno arrived. I hadn't even seen her in the courtroom, but of course she must have been there. She had her arms folded in front of herself; in them she carried her funny little machine and a couple of note pads. She settled in the corner, in a chair obviously designed just for one of her, as it had an attached table top at exactly the right height. It looked like my 3rd grade desk, except, of course, adult size.
She sat down with a sigh. Her legs flopped apart. My eyes bulged.
She had heavy thighs, which I guess made it almost impossible to put her knees together at least for very long. It was a struggle she had long since given up judging from the comfort of her slouch. She always sat like this, I could tell. She arranged the steno machine. She was ready.
"Miss Wilson, please read back the first incident with Mr. Hunt," the judge commanded. Her fingers flew through the miles of strange symbols on white tape until she found the appropriate moment.
She spoke. "Mr Hunt: So I was standing over her jerking off and my cum went all over her tits and... Your Honor: Mr. Hunt. A pause. Then 'Please.'" She said it without the slightest trace of embarrassment. I guessed she'd heard worse.
"And the first warning after that incident?" The judge was moving this right along.
She fumbled with the paper for a moment. Then, "Ah, here it is: Mr. Hunt: You mean when I fucked her or when she blew me? Your Honor: Mr. Hunt, that is absolutely out of order in this courtroom. Do I make myself clear?" She had it down all right. This girl's fingers were better than a SONY.
"And I believe there was another?" he said.
"Yes your Honor. It's right around here." Her fingers pulled at the tape. They were nearly supersonic. "Ah, yes. Mr. Hunt: She turned around and grabbed my, you know, thing, and then bent over, and then knelt down in front of me. What was I supposed to do? I swung around, and she positioned herself in front of me, and began to service me, uh, orally." She paused. "I'm sorry your Honor. That's not it. It must be a little further along."
To be truthful I was a little further along myself. I was looking at an amazing beaver shot, right up this girl's skirt. And while it wasn't the cutest beaver I'd ever seen, it was still the best thing around at the moment. Anyway she had a cute face, perfectly round with big saucer eyes that she had accented with eyeliner and long lashes. She was maybe 10 or 15 pounds overweight, though that's well within the limits of personal preference as far as I'm concerned. Her tits were a little overweight, too. Like I said, that's also OK.
Her most striking feature was her lips. Big, full, and puffy, and smeared with bright red lipstick. Drivers on the interstate probably moved to the side thinking there was a fire truck behind them when she pulled up, I thought. I wondered if the prostitutes of ancient Egypt had any idea what they were starting when they advertised by painting their lips red? [## See Note to Authors #1 at the end of the text ## Click here to hold your place if you're dumb enough to read it now. ##]
"Ah, here it is: Mr. Hunt: And she was on her knees at the side of the car. So she couldn't see anything, and I was so distracted. And as it happened the ranger pulled up just as I blew my load right down her throat... Then your Honor tried to gavel down the noise from the courtroom, and I couldn't hear anything else."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I thought there were three warnings after the first incident, not two."
"I'm pretty sure, your Honor," she said. I took my eyes out of her skirt for a moment and looked at the judge. I could have sworn I saw some movement beneath his robe. I looked back at the girl. You could still see her panties, shining like some target at the end of a runway of skin.
I looked back at the judge. Nothing. He spoke, "Have the entire transcript transcribed tonight. I want it on my desk in the morning." She nodded.
He dismissed us like the unimportant schmucks that we were in his world. We all filed out of the room. As we were walking down the hall my lawyer whispered to me "Enjoy the show?"
"You mean, his fire and brimstone?" I said.
"Of course not. The Beaver. We all watch every time she sits down. I think she's totally unaware of it. But it's a nice show, don't you think?"
I answered slowly. "Sure, I guess." So everybody knew. Well.
That night June asked me how it went and I told her. I left out the part about the beaver. She was concerned anyway. She said "Are they going to reinstate the criminal charges?"
Oh. I guess I forgot to mention, the cops had arrested Shelly and me for lewd and indecent behavior. Fornicating in a State Park. Getting a blow job on government property. That's illegal I guess. Probably never been done before or something. [## See Note to Authors #2 at end of text. ##] I told her I thought it was going to be OK, that the judge was only talking Contempt, probably just a small fine. The charges had been dropped the day after Edward Shulman filed his divorce papers. Shelly's lawyer convinced the cops that they had better things to do than prosecute the two of us for an obviously one time offense. And anyway, Edward was exacting his revenge, so what was the point?
The next morning came too soon, and I dragged myself back to the courthouse. I was back on the stand. I was reminded I was sworn. I knew.
As I began my testimony, my eyes scanned the room. I found the stenographer. She was easy to spot; I just looked for the flash of white panties. I couldn't imagine how I had missed her the day before until I realized that she was sitting nearly sideways in her chair, facing directly at me. Yesterday she must have been seated the other way, facing the attorneys. I was so nervous yesterday that I probably wouldn't have noticed if she had come right up and sat on my face. [## See Note to Authors #3 ##]
The judge seemed in a better mood. He told me that he always allowed three warnings after the first transgression, and apologized for losing his temper. But he also let me know in no uncertain terms that I was at the limit. I knew.
My testimony lasted another hour. It went without incident, and I was done. The court took a 10 minute recess. I prepared to leave. As I was walking down the hall, the stenographer caught up to me. Breathlessly she said, "Mr. Hunt, Mr. Hunt..."
"Call me Mike," I said.
"OK, Mike. I'd like to talk with you during the lunch recess, if you have the time."
In truth I was planning on getting as far away from that courthouse as quickly as possible, but I heard myself say "What for?"
"I need some advice, and based on what I heard in court, you're the perfect person to help."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Oh, it's too detailed to go into right now. But with your experience with sex, I thought maybe you could help me."
Well. The Navy should be able to turn a carrier so fast. "Sure," I said. "Glad to. See you at the lunch break."
I slipped back into the courtroom and took a seat in the back. Shelly was called to the stand and sworn. Edward's lawyer got first crack at her. He proved to be worth every dime of his $500 an hour fee. Shelly's lawyer tried his best to deflect the worst of it, but the torrent of abuse from Edward's schmuck continued until nearly 11:45. It was recess. If I had only known.
The steno found me wandering in the hallway. She knew her way around; I didn't. "Hi," she said. "Nice to meet you. I'm Judy. Judy the Stenographer." Only in a dirty story, I thought.
"So, what's this about?" I asked. I was rushing things. I hated being in that building.
"Can't talk about it here. Come on upstairs. There's a bunch of offices. We can have a little privacy." We climbed the stairs. We barely spoke as we heard the cacophony of noise [## See Note 4 ##] that echoed up the marble staircase. We found an empty room and walked in.
"Mike," she started. "I'm having a little problem with my boyfriend. Finding out about your vast sexual experience was fascinating, and I thought you could give me a little advice."
"I'll try," I said. This is how I got started with Shelly. Oh shit.
"I'm trying to get my boyfriend to do a little bondage scene with me, and he absolutely refuses. Won't hear of it. Won't even let me discuss it. My old boyfriend and I used to do it all the time, and it was a lot of fun."
"So you want to get the new one to try it, right?" She nodded her head. "I'm afraid you've come to the wrong person. I don't do bondage. Never have." She looked at me, disbelief clear in her eyes. "It's true. I just don't get it. S&M, torture, rape, all that stuff. I like my sex gentle and consentual." I paused for a moment, then continued. "I've never had any experience with bondage because I wasn't looking for it, I guess. And I've never looked for it because I've never had any experience with it. A 'chicken and egg' thing."
"I can't believe it," she said. "No experience at all? MIKE HUNT? Accountant and part time smut writer? Never? Boy do you have some misconceptions."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Like that it can't be gentle. Or consentual. For heaven's sakes." She was openly mocking me.
"I don't understand," I said.
"Stand up," she said. "Walk over to that roll-top desk." The desk was a tall one, standing all alone in the middle of the room. A little triangular sign on the top said "Sheriff John Porter".
She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "A quick illustration?" she asked.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Oh for god's sakes. It'll take a minute. Two minutes, tops. Don't tell me you're afraid?"
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