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Message-ID: <51736asstr$1124536203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Carlos Malenkov <cmalenkov@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Backdoor Justice  (MF Fdom anal toys nc rape)
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Date: Sat, 20 Aug 2005 07:10:03 -0400
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BACKDOOR JUSTICE
by Carlos Malenkov
Copyright (c) 2005 by Carlos Malenkov
Posting and archiving rights granted to ASSM. All other rights reserved.



    You can talk about the courtroom dramas on TV all you want. They're
    crap, I tell you, utter _crap_. Listen. I know a story that tops
    it all.

New York has this peculiar institution known as the Sanitation Court.
That's where you report if you get a summons for littering or maybe if
you're a contractor who's tried to sneak a couple of bags of renovation
debris into the regular municipal trash pickup. And it's where young
judges start their career, and where old judges end up when they're thrown
on the trash heap. A sad place, and one best avoided, no doubt. Well,
one day it was my turn to find out what goes on behind the scenes of
this odd corner of the judicial edifice.

_What's this? A ticket for putting improper items out to be collected?
Oh, I get it, this is about those bags of wood scraps and plaster from
renovating my apartment. Wait a minute! I had called Bulk Pickup to take
care of that. Twice, damn it. Once to set up a special pickup and once
more to confirm the appointment. It looks like the pickup wasn't made,
in spite of all that. And now the friggin' sanitation cops are blaming
me. Me!_

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Your Honor, how can you just order me to pay the fine? The facts
clearly demonstrate that I'm totally innocent of violating any municipal
ordinance."

"Allow me to explain how the system works, citizen. The Sanitation Court
isn't about justice, either in the abstract sense or the particular. It's
about collecting fines. It's about helping you do your part toward meeting
the city's budget deficit. That's all. So, why don't you just be a good
boy and trot out that door behind you and pay what you owe at the clerk's
window downstairs. Or, if you prefer, you can mail in a check."

_What an asshole the judge was._

She was tall and blonde. Her apparent age was in the early thirties. There
was a hint of a shapely figure beneath her judicial robe. Under different
circumstances this might have been a woman I'd have liked to get to know
better. _Much_ better. Yet, here she was, giving lectures and handing out
fines for petty bullshit and, in general, making like a hardass. What
a fucking waste.

"_Just one moment there, mister._"

I had gotten up to leave, but her words halted me dead in my tracks.

"I'll see you in chambers in half an hour. There are aspects of your
particular case that require further elaboration."

Great! What in the hell did this judge want with me now? To slap me
with yet another fine? To give me a speech about law and order and
littering? To throw me in the slammer maybe?

------------------------------------------------------------------

I knocked on the ornate wooden door. No answer. Was I supposed to just
walk in?

Dead silence. No one in sight. Wait. _There!_ Behind the desk. On the
floor. A black-robed figure on the carpet, and . . . _naked flesh_. The
judge was lying there facedown, her arms stretched out in front of
her. She had one leg in the air, languidly bent backward at the knee,
and . . . and her judicial robes hiked up way above her waist. _Her
gleaming bare ass stared me in the face._

"Well, what are you waiting for? A judicial order?"

Her voice startled me out of the trance.

"Why do you think I summoned you here? To slap you with another fine?
To give you a speech about law and order? To jail you, perhaps?"

_She must have read my mind._

"No, citizen. You are in my judicial chambers for one particular purpose
-- to enter into my intimate chambers. I want you. I want you to . . .
make love to me in a very special way. I want you to . . . _stick it up
my ass_."

Whoa! This wasn't exactly something I needed to get involved in. Fucking
a judge in chambers. _Sodomizing_ her. Hey, a person could get in deep shit
for that. Very deep shit.

"What? Do I detect a certain reluctance? Does the defendant fear
the consequences of enacting an ancient ritual with a justice of the
Sanitation Court? Courage, my good man, courage. You might never have
this opportunity again. Think of the memories. Of the tales you could
tell your grandchildren. Not to mention the exotic sensual pleasures
that await you in the here and now."

She wiggled her ass as she said that last. It was a trifle plump, that
ass, but very nicely rounded. Curvy and enticing and available for the
taking, and . . . I was stepping out of my pants before I realized I had
made up my mind.

I slid right into her. Bareback -- no protection (this was before the AIDS
era) -- neither of us wanted anything to get in the way of flesh-to-flesh
contact. She was slippery-smooth inside, as if she had lubed herself
up in preparation for this encounter. But the fit in the anal passage
wasn't quite as snug as I was expecting. Could it be that the good judge
had been stretched inside by doing this sort of thing before?

My first strokes were slow and tentative, but she moaned and rolled her
ass backwards toward me, pushing me farther up into her. _The heat._
She was hot inside. Glowing hot. Almost too hot to bear. The judge was
burning inside -- her rectum was the lava tube of a volcano.

Deeper! I had to get deeper into her!

I held on to her hips and pressed all the way into her, as I lay
suspended full length on her back. My groin ground into the crack between
her buttocks and I felt those cushiony ass cheeks squash against my
hipbones. At full depth I held her tight and sank my teeth into her
earlobe. Her legs began flailing and I felt compression waves begin
inside her as her anal sphincter spasmed against my shaft. Her entire
body went rigid, then she gasped and sagged into total relaxation.

The soft summer breeze blowing through the windows dispersed pungent
odors of sweat and male and female excitement. There was the faint
undertone of sperm-and-shit, the signature fragrance of anal sex.

"Wait. Don't you _dare_ pull out yet," she said. "Reach for that damp
washcloth over there and wipe yourself off when you withdraw. If you
dribble any body fluids on the carpet, I'll damn well have you arrested
for disorderly conduct."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"No, I can't just overturn the verdict. Justice is justice, after all.
And, you have been found guilty of violating a municipal ordinance. But,
tell you what. For services rendered, I'll refund the full amount of
the fine."

She pulled a twenty and a five out of her purse and nonchalantly handed
them to me. We were walking down the marble steps of the courthouse toward
street level. I reached out to toward her, but she drew back. There wasn't
a trace of emotion on her face. We might well have been strangers.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several weeks later there was a message on my machine. It was the judge.
She needed to see me in chambers about certain matters relating to
my case.

There she was, sitting in majestic splendor in her high-backed black
leather chair behind that massive hardwood desk. She smiled down at me.
She was stark naked.

    For as long as I can remember I've wanted a career in law. Power has
    always fascinated me, and the courtroom is where you encounter it in
    its nakedest form. And, now that I'm on my chosen path, as a judge in
    this bullshit Sanitation Court (with _much_ greater things to follow),
    I've found it strangely dissatisfying. Certainly, I can dispense a
    reasonable facsimile of justice, in between bouts of cynicism, but
    there's something missing here. It's all so hideously abstract --
    just a dry, intellectual exercise. I just can't _connect_ to the
    people I'm allegedly judging.

    The only way I can cope with such feelings is to humble myself, to
    strip myself of all illusions and delusions, to _abase_ myself in
    the sexual act. And, the most profoundly humbling, self-abasing act
    of them all is opening up my ass -- letting myself be sodomized. It
    grounds me, puts me in touch with my innermost essence, and, quite
    fortuitously, gives me exquisite sensual satisfaction. It brings me to
    orgasm, sometimes violently. It leaves me utterly drained, floating on
    air, and feeling as if I'm a conduit of power. But the effect fades
    after a few days, and then I need more. _More._ I fear I've become
    addicted to this magnificently loathsome _perversion_. I'm afraid.

The judge got down on hands and knees and presented her ass to me.

"No, not that way," I said. "I have something a bit different in mind."

I positioned her on her left side. "Bend that upper leg up toward your
chest, Your Honor." I straddled her extended bottom leg and droplets of
lube seeped out of her as I inserted myself into her chamber. The modified
side-by-side "spooning" position is recommended for taking enemas and
notorious among anal sex afficionados for enabling deep penetration
and for flexing the rectum of the receiver at just the right angle to
allow the penetrating penis to push past the valve at the far end of the
rectum and up into the lower intestine. This time I'd give the good judge
something to remember me by. I'd set a judicial precedent, so to speak.

She screamed as she came, and we lay there afterwards for a time cuddling.
I kissed her behind the ear and whispered, "Is this what love is -- "
She abruptly stiffened.

"Time to go," she said. "Get dressed and get your skinny ass _out
of here_!"

"But, wait . . . "

"Look, chump, do you want me to ring for the bailiff? You can walk out
under your own power or be hustled out. Your choice."

I hurriedly pulled on my pants and shirt and left.

     The one thing I truly fear is being vulnerable. Opening myself
     up physically to strangers requires me to wear a heavy layer of
     emotional armor. Letting a stranger fuck my ass, yet keeping him
     from sinking his hooks into me is an interesting tactical problem.
     Therefore, no commitments or ties. It's in-and-out, and then scram.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

No more, I swore. I'm having nothing more to do with that wacky judge.
But, damn it, just thinking about it got me horny. It's not like I'm
starved for sex, even anal sex. I've never lacked for girlfriends and
mostly they're more than happy to give me what I want -- pussy, ass,
whatever. But this damn judge has _something_, I don't know what, but
it's adds up to the hottest, most explosive scene I've ever been part
of. I'm losing interest in other women.

Then I got another call from her. An invitation to visit her chambers.
Those fucking chambers. Of course, I couldn't stay away.

I didn't knock this time. Why bother? She was expecting me.

I saw the flash of light before I felt the pain. There was an odor of
burning flesh. Then my knees gave way.

Why was she strapping me over the desk? Facedown. With my pants pulled
down. _Uh-oh._ She had something in mind for me. Something special.

   Power. That's the crux of the matter. Power and domination. I _wield_
   power as a judge. I _yield_ power when I let a man into my body. How
   then, do I reassert myself, claw back from a man the power he has
   taken it from me? *By doing to him what he has done to me . . . *

_What was she doing to me?_ Shit! She was trying to shove something
inside me! It hurt! Another flash . . . and it burned! I was fading,
fading out. Before everything went blank the thought popped into my head
that she was _raping_ me with a gigantic dildo. She was _fucking_ me!

The big, burly bailiff let me lean on him as he walked me down the
courthouse stairs. "The judge lady is really something," he chuckled. Then
he slapped me on the butt and said, "I wouldn't mind getting a piece of
that, myself. If you're ever in the mood . . . "

"If I ever am, I'll let you know," I said.

I lay in bed shivering, trying to make some kind of sense of what had
happened. That fucking judge had knocked me out with some kind of electric
cattle prod (in retrospect, it might have been an early prototype of a
Taser), and then she fucking _raped_ me. Me, Mr. Superstud. And, there
wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it. Who would believe me? Well,
damn it, maybe I should just sneak back into the judge's chambers and
get some evidence . . . maybe a diary or a journal or something . . .


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


It's 20 years later, and I'm in a different state, both geographically
and spiritually. My girlfriend and I have an okay time in bed, and she
even lets me do her in the ass on those all-too-rare occasions when she
gets in the right mood. She doesn't even want to hear about strapping
on a dildo and doing me, though. More's the pity.

As for the good judge, well, she's been in the news lately. They've
selected her as a candidate for the Supreme Court. Yep, the _U.S. Supreme
Court_. She just happens to be the sort of far right-wing wacko so
beloved by the current administration. And now she'll be in a position
to fuck the whole country in the ass.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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