If you've been through Woodburn, you know where Route 82 curves over the river coming into town and the road narrows from four to two lanes just north of the bridge over Miller's Creek. The two lanes continue until six and three-tenths miles south of town when it divides into four lanes again.
The two lane section, which is within the Town Limits, is a sedate forty-five miles an hour. Since the speed limit on the four lane is seventy, some people have trouble complying with the lower speed. We in Woodburn didn't object when the American Automobile Association branded us as a speed trap. In fact, it was our idea. Chasing the speeders wore out squad cars and stretched the limits of our town police force, Chief Pat Wilson and Officers Cletus and Boyd Wilson, who were related to Pat by direct descent.
I suggested to Triple A that they label us as a speed trap. It helps us uphold the law and, after all, the ultimate responsibility for upholding the law falls to me, James Henry Madison. I'm the judge. And the mayor and the postmaster.
I even patrol the highway sometimes since I was once a police officer myself. I don't expect the town to supply me a squad car with its limited budget, so I supply my own-a cherry red '95 Firebird with a 350 V8, four in the four and all the speed enhancements the law allows. All right, I'll admit it. It has some the law doesn't allow unless you're the law, which I am. I did let the city buy the red lights and siren, but I don't use them much. People in Woodburn know when I'm coming. The Firebird has loud pipes and rumbles with a nice, deep bass.
I was coming back from Jefferson one bright Saturday afternoon. Jefferson's south of Woodburn forty-three miles, which is twenty minutes for me and forty minutes for everyone else. I wasn't in a good mood because Hiram Abbot, the Jefferson sheriff, had whipped me in golf and taken my money. Golf's my second or third greatest passion, depending on the weather.
When I clicked on the police radio to let the Wilsons know the red bullet headed their way was me, Clete came on the air.
"Come in, Chief," Clete said.
"Chief here. What's up, Clete?"
"There's a traffic jam on 82 at the bridge."
"Huh? Did you say traffic jam?
"I sure did."
"It can't be. We've never had a traffic jam in Woodburn."
"Dad, I mean, Chief, this is Boyd. I'm south of the bridge off Main Street. I can see the problem. It's a blue Mercedes doing five miles an hour. She's on the phone."
Knowing someone was driving while talking on a cell phone made me almost as mad as missing a four-foot putt on number seventeen and having to hear Hiram snicker.
"This is the Judge," I broke in. "Stop her and go over the car with a fine tooth comb. Let's get every charge against her we can."
"Don't we need some reason to stop her, Jimmy?" Boyd asked.
"Does she have both hands on the wheel?"
"No, she doesn't. Should she?"
"It's the law in this state," I replied pompously.
"If you say so, Judge. Okay. I'll get her."
Ten minutes later, I passed the scene of the crime. Boyd had a blue Mercedes pulled over. Its driver was standing between her car and his car pleading animatedly.
I did notice she was a fine looking woman about thirty-five or so wearing a white blouse, navy blue skirt, and low heels. Her black hair was wrapped smoothly on her head. The skirt fitted nicely over what appeared to be a well formed bottom. Like I said, I'm a former police officer and we're trained in observation.
I was in my office about thirty minutes later when Maureen, our dispatcher, jailer, secretary, office manager, town clerk, and head of the parks department, called me on the intercom. Some people might pronounce her name "Mo'reen" or "Maw'reen." Some people might say "Mar'een." But she pronounced it "Muh reen" with the accent on the second syllable. She corrected any one who called her otherwise.
"Jimmy, we've got a prisoner situation out here. You'd better come."
My office door opens into the police room that serves all the basic functions including holding cell, which in Woodburn means they're handcuffed to the steel pipe in the corner. It also served as Maureen's office and she ran it with an iron hand. Maureen lives in Jefferson and worked for the former sheriff there. She was fired when he caught her in bed with his wife. Maureen's big as a semi and twice as hard, but there's something about her that turns on the ladies with a ladylike bent. Sometimes they didn't know they had that bent until Maureen bends them.
As Boyd and Maureen looked at the paper work, I looked at the prisoner.
Wisps of her black hair had worked free and hung around her face. Her blouse was twisted and its right tail hung outside her skirt. The skirt was askew, and pulled tightly over her thighs, which, on closer inspection, were delightful. Her calves were shapely and led to narrow ankles. The blouse billowed over her right breast and was tight over her left, which, as the ads says, was round, firm and fully packed.
When she realized I was standing there, she looked up. She had beautiful brown eyes, soft and slightly frightened. She stood as gracefully as one can stand when their hands are cuffed behind them.
"Young man, I insist that I see the judge," she said with authority.
"It's Saturday. The judge might not be in," I replied.
"But she said he was."
"If he is, why would you want to see him?"
"There's been a mistake, a horrible mistake made by this... this policeman (she made it sound like a dirty word). I've got rights and I insist on seeing the judge."
"I'm the judge."
"You deceived me."
"No. You presumed I wasn't the judge. Why?"
"You're... well, there's no reason."
"Boyd," I said, "What are the charges?"
Boyd looked guilty as hell when he handed me the tickets. There was a stack of them.
"Oh, my. We've got a real criminal here," I said jocularly.
"I'm no criminal. I can't believe this, this... person abused me."
"Excuse me. Are you charging us with police brutality?"
"That's not what I meant. I mean... oh, damn it, I was just driving through town..."
"That's enough. Has he told you what the charges are?"
She gave him the evil eye and Boyd quivered like a wet puppy. Boyd could stare down a bear if the bear was male. Any female made him tuck his tail and run. Fortunately, we didn't have many female criminals in Woodburn.
"I count twelve separate offenses here with fines totaling..." Boyd said.
"Two thousand five hundred seventy-two dollars and fifty cents, including court costs," Maureen said, completing his sentence.
The woman made a sick gasping sound and slumped back into the chair. Somehow her skirt twisted again and rode higher on her legs. Her eyes begged for mercy when she looked up at me.
"Judge, may I talk to you in your chambers?"
"Of course," I replied. I took the handcuff keys from Boyd before guiding her into my office.
She sat on the edge of the straight chair as she continued to fight the cuffs. I would have taken them off her but I was enjoying the sight of her clothes twisting around her. There is something deliciously sexy about a woman in handcuffs. And something told me the lady was having more fun than she was willing to admit.
"Have you ever worn handcuffs before?" I asked.
"I've never been arrested," she stammered.
"That's not what I asked," I replied.
She turned a bright red and shyly looked away. Those beautiful brown eyes weren't frightened now. They were apprehensive with a touch of horny. But my shit-eating grin pissed her off.
"Can you take these damn things off me?"
"Damn's a swear word and the fine for swearing in court is a hundred dollars. That makes..."
"I don't care what it makes," she barked.
"If you're throwing yourself on the mercy of the court, you're going about it the wrong way," I said.
"Oh, damn, damn, damn," she said as she stamped her feet and shook her head in frustration.
That did have some positive results from my point of view. Another outburst would let me see what color panties she wore. I was betting on pink. More hair escaped and when the fit was over, she blew at it, trying to get the wisp off her face. She took a deep, deep breath, which was another positive result, and loudly exhaled.
"Look, my husband has plenty of money and I can pay the fines."
"Do you want to call him?"
She flushed. "No. I don't. Not now anyway. Judge, can I be honest?"
"That would be nice."
"I don't particularly want my husband to know about these tickets. He thinks I'm an inattentive driver."
"Like when you're going five in a forty-five zone or like when you're on the cell phone?"
"Lots of people use cell phones and..."
"Do lots of people have suspended licenses, no insurance..."
"Don't get smart with me," she interrupted.
Her eyes were blazing. She was a fiery wench and she heated me up in more ways than one. I looked at her license to give me time to cool down.
"It says here that you're Melissa Anderson Brown of Chesterville. Is that correct?"
"Yes, it is, your honor." The last two words were an afterthought.
"And it says you're forty-three. That can't be right."
"Why, yes, it is," she said with a ladylike blush.
"I'd have guessed thirty-three, thirty-five max."
"Thank you, but I'm far past thirty-five. I have three children. The oldest is probably your age."
"I'm twenty-nine," I replied.
"Well, my oldest is twenty-five."
I did some quick math. Mrs. Brown was pregnant was she was seventeen. I wondered who the lucky guy was.
The door opened and a red faced Boyd whispered, "Judge? Can I see you?"
I excused myself and joined him in Maureen's office. In ninety seconds, I was back. When she saw my face, she looked terrified.
"Well, things have changed. It seems this is a drug bust."
"What? It can't be."
I held up a baggie with four joints in it.
"Boyd found these under the front seat, Mrs. Brown," I said.
She sagged against the seat back, but her eyes stayed on my face. The skirt inched up some more and I raised the bet with myself.
"We'll need to search and book you before we talk anymore. You understand that a search is preliminary to being booked for the crimes. Then you can call your husband or your attorney."
"I told you I don't want to call my husband and he is my attorney."
"Mrs. Brown, because drugs are involved, I'm going to have to jail you. I'll set bail and when someone makes it, you're free to go. Of course, you'll have to be back here for your trial."
"How much will the bail be?"
"Five thousand dollars, but a bail-bondsman will charge you a tenth of that if you have good credit."
"Do you take credit cards?" she asked. Before I could answer, she continued, "Damn. I can't do that. Phil would know."
She was thinking and thinking hard. As she thought, she stared at the floor, but twice she glanced up at me. I wasn't looking at the floor. I was looking at her, which was very easy on my eyes.
I called Maureen on the intercom and told her to come in. In three seconds, she was standing in my office vibrating like a Peterbilt at a red light.
"Maureen, we need to search and book her."
Maureen leered at Mrs. Brown. When Maureen licked her lips, Mrs. Brown quivered and slid further down the seat. Damn. Red panties. I owed myself a hundred dollars.
"Judge, please," Mrs. Brown whimpered.
"The law requires search of a female suspect by a matron unless the suspect waives her rights and agrees to search by an officer, or unless no matron is present," I said.
"If I agree to a search by an officer, who will that be?" the suspect said.
"Me," I replied. I gave her a happy grin.
Mrs. Brown's eyes revealed, but only for an instant, thoughts she may not want revealed, like this time when sexual acknowledgment and interest flashed. It looked like a neon sign to me.
"I agree," she said.
Maureen snorted and stomped out, making the floor tremble. She was back in a flash with the legal document allowing search by an officer, but during that time, Mrs. Brown's eyes met and held mine. Hers twinkled with sexual promise. You'd have to ask her what mine did.
"Stand up and turn around," I said to her.
I undid one of the cuffs.
"Aren't you going to remove the other one?" she asked.
"I'll just have to put it back on after I search you. I'm saving a step this way," I replied.
Those big brown eyes held mine again as she stretched, rubbed her wrists, and straightened her clothes before sitting down and signing the agreement. Maureen stormed out again.
Mrs. Brown leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. She made no effort to keep the skirt down, and those red panties under that navy skirt looked like a red flag to a bull. It was a blatant come-on, which increased what was becoming a blatant hard-on.
"I've never been a criminal before. What's going to happen?"
"First, the search. Then the booking. When you return for trial, you'll be found innocent or guilty. If you're guilty, punishment will be set."
"If I'm guilty, what punishment did you have in mind?"
"The maximum is a year in the county jail. We don't have a jail in this county, so you'd be incarcerated in Chesterville."
She shivered. "Not Chesterville," she said.
"I'm afraid so, but I wouldn't worry about it. Jail's probably a year away and then only if you're guilty."
"I'm guilty," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "They're my joints."
Damn! I hoped Boyd read her rights to her.
"Maybe there's some way we can shortcut all this," she said.
"We can go through the procedures. I'll plead guilty. You can punish me and let me go home today."
I need to tell you about the words "punish me." Not the words so much but the way she said them. She tilted her pelvis, arched her back, dropped her head and looked up seductively, and was back in her original position before the next word.
"What are you saying, Mrs. Brown?" I asked.
"I'm sure you understand," she said. She showed a little frustration.
"I'm a country boy. You need to spell it out for me."
"I'm saying," she said slowly as if talking to an idiot, "that I want to keep this all between you and me, without court documents and things like that. If we can, I'll accept any punishment you want to give me."
She leaned forward. I didn't remember the top two buttons of her blouse being open, but they were. I know I'd have remembered something like that.
"And," she continued, "if the punishment involves sexual activities with you, I agree to them, whatever they might be. I might enjoy them as much as you do." She leaned back and crossed her legs again. Her foot flicked back and forth. "Was that clear enough?"
My cock was throbbing. "Clear as a bell," I replied.
Her cat eyes held me spellbound as she stood and smoothed her skirt. She arched her back slightly as she said, "Now what?"
"Lean and spread 'em."
"You know, like on TV when the bad guys are caught. Lean against the wall and spread your legs."
"How far?" she asked seductively.
"Shoulder width," is what I said. "With your knees by your ears" is what I wanted to say. She heard both.
There's a mirror in my office on one wall. It comes to waist height. I had her lean against it so I could watch her face. Her eyebrow was cocked and her lip curled in a smile as she put her palms flat against it.
"I don't do many searches and this is my first drug bust, so this might take awhile."
"Why are you undoing my hair?"
"It's a logical place to hide drugs."
Her eyes were closed as she enjoyed my fingers running through her hair. It was raven black with strands of grey proving raven was her natural color. Her hair was thick and fell to her shoulders.
"Do many criminals hide drugs along their spines?" she asked.
"You never know," I answered as I pulled her blouse out of her skirt.
She was watching me in the mirror as my hands slipped across the smooth skin of her back to unclasp her bra. I think a woman's back is an oft overlooked and stunning erogenous zone. With my thumbs on each side of her spine and hands spread widely, I worked my way up her back. She enjoyed it as much as I did. I cupped her breasts, gently squeezing, tantalizing with my nails until her eyes dilated and her hips twitched.
"Ohh," she gasped as I pinched her nipples. "Find what you're looking for?" she asked sardonically.
"Precious jewels. I found two diamonds."
"And when do I get to see your family jewels?"
"Oh, that comes later. Put your legs together."
I unbuttoned the skirt and pulled the zipper. She wiggled to let me slide it down over her hips. She was smirking when I pulled down her panties and pantyhose and helped her out of them. She obviously worked out. Those legs were hard and muscled and that was a really great ass.
"Spread your legs again. Wider this time."
"This wide enough?" she asked.
"That's fine. Now be still. I'm going to do a body cavity search."
I was on her left. I slipped the index finger of my right hand up her pussy, which was dripping wet. I jammed that index finger up her backside and the left one up her frontside.
"Oh, Jesus God," she stammered.
"Be still. I'm checking."
"I can't be still," she groaned.
Both fingers were busy searching for drugs. I found a hard little button I thought might be crack, but when I tugged, it was attached. I twisted it back and forth.
"Yes, Judge, oh, yes."
Hips rotated and thrust, sweat oozed, breath came in short pants, but I didn't find any contraband. I stood back to look at her.
"Don't stop, you bastard," she whimpered.
"Contempt of court. That's another five hundred dollars, Mrs. Brown."
Her eyes were wild as she faced me. "Let me tell you what contempt is," she snapped. "If you don't handcuff me, push me down over your desk and fuck me doggy style this instant, I'm going to slap the hell out of you."
"My, my. Threatening an officer of the court. You're a dangerous woman, Mrs. Brown."
"You don't know the half of it," she retorted.
She crushed her body against mine and kissed me hard as her hips thrust against me. Her hand crushed my cock through my trousers as she stood back.
"Now, be a good little judgie and punish your prisoner," she said coyly. "And you better not suffer from premature ejaculation," she snapped.
I heard a click as she cuffed her hands behind her. She flopped over the desk nicely spread for my viewing enjoyment.
Any police department knows that equipment is an important part of the job. In Woodburn, we don't have the budgets of the big city forces, but, fortunately, the equipment needed for this particular assignment came with the personnel at no additional cost.
"Come on, Judge. Do your duty," she said as she wiggled her hips.
My equipment was at attention and ready for inspection. I nudged the head against her pussy and she squirmed back to get him in her. Up and down her crack I rubbed, covering my cock in her abundant flow.
It was time for Mrs. Brown to meet the short arm of the law.
"Holy Jesus in heaven," she screamed.
"Judge! Do you want any help?" Maureen called though the door.
"Go away," I yelled.
"That's it. Oh, God, yes. Yes. Harder. Oh, God, I cummminnng," she said. Or words like that. I wasn't concentrating on that part of what we were doing. I was concentrating on holding her hips so she wouldn't buck me off.
I believe in doing a through job, but the time comes to finish a project. My time was coming quickly. I pushed her to the floor and jammed my cock against her lips. The poor woman must've been starved because she opened her mouth and greedily swallowed. As the ads say, good to the last drop.
When I collapsed on the floor with a thunk, she squirmed over to suck my cock as it softened.
"Now what?" she whispered after we both caught our breath.
"You're a magnificent fuck," I said, unfastening the handcuffs.
"Thank you. So are you."
We staggered to our feet to redress.
"I'm concerned for the safety of the people of Woodburn. Turning a dangerous woman loose on the streets may not be in the public interest," I said.
"Or in your pubic interest anyway," she retorted. "What do you have in mind?"
"In the Chesterville jail?"
"I have some place more secure. It could be used for hardened criminals."
"I didn't think I was the one that was hard," she answered with a smirk. She stuffed her bra, pantyhose, and panties in her purse. "Will you accept a plea bargain?"
"How about different weekends over the course of a year?"
"If I can make a phone call to my sister, we can start now."
I dialed the number for her. It was the least I could do. She made no attempt to conceal her conversation, but I could only hear her voice. I really needed a speaker phone.
"Hi, Cindy, it's me. I'm not coming down there this weekend, but I need you to cover for me... Well, I'm sorry. You'll just have to screw both of them yourself... Of course, I'm with a man. He's twenty-nine with a great smile and a cute ass... Hold on, I'll ask him. How big's your cock, judge?"
"Oh, come on. Guys measure their equipment. How big is it?"
"Big enough," I said, blushing for the first time in years.
"Oh, Cindy, we embarrassed him. He's even cuter when he blushes... It's more than big enough to get the job done, Cindy. I can vouch for that... Doggy style with my hands cuffed behind my back and over his desk... Maybe he'll let you try it... He's worth a visit to Woodburn. Just as for the judge... Okay, sis. Bye for now."
She hung up the phone, sat down in my chair, and put her feet on the desk.
"All right, Judge. I'm your prisoner until Sunday afternoon."
I took her to my house. Since she admittedly enjoyed the handcuffs, we tried out some of my more sophisticated personal equipment. She couldn't decide which she liked better, her wrists tied to the headboard and her legs tied froggy-style or face down over the kitchen table with arms and legs bound to the table legs, so we did each a couple of times.
We didn't fuck for the whole twenty-four hours. We actually talked, ate, cuddled, and slept some of the time. But we didn't wear any clothes and we didn't leave my house except to fuck in the backyard by the hot tub. She was gagged for that. Sounds carry a long way in the country air.