Nevada Red
Chapter 13

Copyright© 2010 by Ronbry

Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 13 - If you thought Nevada was only sand, whorehouses and gambling, you are selling 1,998,257 (2000 Nevada State Census) of the nicest people in the world short. Join us as JD, our apprentice Redneck, learns his trade at the knee of Pinky, the friendly ghost. Watch as he develops his skills in the wonderful world of ranching and how to stay alive doing it. Who knows, there just may be a little romance along with all the action.

Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Extra Sensory Perception   Mystery   Paranormal   Interracial   Safe Sex   Oral Sex   Anal Sex  

The next morning in Las Vegas, Judge Joe Jimmy Jolly was one pissed off Federal Judge. He had taken the amateurish Pinkston Ranch suit as a serious affront to his professionalism. His level of embarrassment was so high that he personally spent the night putting a string of evidence together indicating the possibility of serious malfeasance by Judge Charter and several other people in positions of public trust. His entire case was in the portfolio sitting next to him in his car.

First, he had to come in from vacation to cover a special case for that idiot Charter, then he was embarrassed by the apparent lack of preparation he inherited. Now he was wasting the last Friday of his vacation on this crap. Why didn't he just turn this over to the Federal Prosecutor's Office and just go back on vacation? He didn't like that slime ball judge anyway. Why did he give the asshole Judge Charter the courtesy of reviewing this case before Charter was brought up on charges?

He was also angry with himself in the way he handled himself when that freak from his days at Oklahoma had to show up in his court room. It wasn't so much that Billie was what Billie was. God Damn it, that Billie thing still excited him sexually, even though he knew what it was.

To make matters worse, the law suit was totally bogus. Phillip J. Charter was a Federal Judge for Christ's sake. That process should have never gotten to the courtroom. The whole thing had been, in its best spin, shoddily handled, and he was on the way to the hospital to find out what and why.

He pulled into the hospital parking deck and found a remote area to park his new Lexus. He didn't notice the camera security trucks desperately trying to reboot the crashed security system or the missing security cameras that were currently by code placed in out of the way areas like this one. It wouldn't have mattered if he had. This thing was brand new, and he didn't want some idiot putting dents in the doors. He'd been sitting behind his bench too long and was getting soft. He could have parked closer, but the exersize wouldn't kill him.

It would take an idiot to waste the time to park in this remote area. But then, bigger than shit, a beat up pickup truck pulled into the next space to his. He was parked in the most inconvenient space in the place and still some bastard followed him to the next space. Jolly went ballistic when the dirty, scruffy bum slammed his driver's door into the passenger door of the Lexus.

"You stupid son of a bitch, where do you get off banging on my car?"

The man looked at the door and smiled. "You're that Federal Judge Jolly ain't you?"

"Yeah, and you gonna pay for this damage."

"No heretic, you're going to pay. The Great Spacer is calling in your marker."

"What the hell..."

The man pulled a silenced pistol from the truck and pointed it at Jolly.

"You should have never interfered with the Octagon Church."

Jolly watched in a horrified disbelief as the man smiled and put two slugs in his heart.

As soon as Jolly was dead on the parking deck floor, the man emptied the judges pockets and pulled the judge's portfolio from the Lexus's front seat. After he moved the body to the front of the car, wiped down anywhere he had touched the Lexus and picked up the two shell casings, he threw his loot into the truck, climbed in, pulled the truck out of the parking space and, without so much as a look at the crime scene, slowly drove away.


At the same time the battered pickup truck was leaving the Las Vegas hospital parking deck, a new Cadillac pulled to the curb on one of the streets just outside of the high school's protective surveillance zone. Cynthia Wooster was in the mood. It didn't make any difference to her if it was a man or a woman who scratched her itch. She was determined the itch would be scratched, and it would be scratched today. The fact that she couldn't get her sexual frustration satisfied in her own town added to her sense of helplessness.

At one point the itch got so bad that she even considered buying a dog, but the next morning after she fought through a massive drug hang over, she ditched the idea. She hadn't visited Pinkston at The Goose to buy drugs since.

This was not the first time she had resorted to trolling the high school of a neighboring town. She had the cheap motel room ready for her fun. Now she had to find the right partner with whom to spend the afternoon. High school boys were easy. They were old enough to provide her pleasure, but young enough to manipulate into satisfying her perversions. They were also generally horny enough to let common sense be overruled by the chance of free pussy.

Life was easier when she lived in Las Vegas. She could go to an anonymous singles bar and end up on someone's arm. Granted, as she let herself go, the arms were offered later and later at night, but she almost always ended up in someone's bed.

The heady days of finding a lesbian partner on Friday night, a hetero partner on Saturday, and a group activity on Sunday with both orientations were long gone. She was now a respectable pillar of society. She had standards to maintain, and most of the time she maintained them, at least in public.

Gone also were the days of her youth when her mother and father would take her to their swinger's club where she would be the center of attention and action. From her twelfth birthday until the club was raided when she was sixteen she was granted every sexual favor she desired. When her parents and their friends were sent to prison for statutory rape, she was moved into the child welfare / foster care system in Los Angles.

There she had no problem getting her itches scratched in many of the foster families to which she was assigned. A brother, a neighbor or even her foster father was usually willing to provide stud service for her ever increasing thirst. She worked her way through numerous families until she was old enough for the system to toss her out, and she moved to Vegas.

Now, she had the same desires, but being forced to live in small town Nevada severely restricted the way in which she addressed those uncontrollable needs. She kept telling herself she was not a nymphomaniac like the county shrinks in California claimed. She was just a woman with strong needs. Wasn't she entitled to satisfy those needs? Her skills and efforts provided so much good to the community in which she lived. Yes, it was only a God given right that she should find satisfaction for her needs.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the young man round the corner on his way to class. He obviously had some weight problems, but he was still in her acceptable sex partner profile. He was clean, but his clothes had been out of style five years ago. His hair was well groomed, but unruly. "My God," she whispered to herself. "He's even wearing a pocket protector."

As her unknowing victim walked past the car, Cynthia pressed the button that lowered the passenger seat window of her Cadillac and called to him, "Excuse me young man. I'm lost. Can you help me?"

The boy was jerked out of his thoughts about the porn site his mother had caught him on the night before when she came home early from her job at the restaurant. He still couldn't believe the dressing down she had given him for living in a fantasy world when, according to her, there were so many girls his own age that would be thrilled to form a relationship with him. He was trying to figure out if his mother was nuts, or, if she wasn't, where he could find all those girls when he was interrupted.

He dropped the lit cigarette from the pack he had stolen from his mother the weekend before on the grass and knelt down to the window and asked, "How can I help you ma'am?"

"I'm such an airhead," Cynthia cooed. "I was driving around town, looking at everything, and got completely turned around. Do you know where the Star Time Motel is?"

"Yes ma'am. It's on the other side of town. You just drive down this street four blocks and turn left. Go another five blocks and you're at the highway. When you get there turn right, and you'll run into it. You can't miss it."

She batted her eyes at the young man and leaned toward the window to show a massive amount of cleavage. "That sounds so complicated. Could you just take me there so I don't get lost again? I'm so flustered I don't trust myself driving."

"I'd like to help you, ma'am, but I have to go to school. I'll be late."

"I know how to get around that, Honey. I can square things with the school, and I'll make it worth your while if you help me." She cupped one of her beasts, and licked her lips.

The boy lost all the blood from his head as it quickly filled another part of his body. His eyes grew as saliva formed at the edges of his mouth. "I ... I don't know if that's such a good idea. What would people think?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to say anything, and I can reward you in such a pleasant way. Wait, you're not afraid of me, are you? A big strong man like you can't be afraid of little old me can you?"

"Oh, no Ma'am, that's not it at all. I..."

"It's okay sugar, if you're not the man I took you to be, I can understand your fear, but I am a very good teacher. You really could be missing out on the greatest learning experience of your life. You're not one of those queer boys are you?"

That did it. The boy rounded the car, opened the car door and commanded, "Move over. I'll drive."


I was just getting numb to the amount of jail bait flesh exposed around me when a little white streak caught my peripheral vision. I turned to see Millie at the top of her cannon ball scream, "Marco..."

Before she hit the water, seven year old Hillary screamed back, "Polo..."

I turned back to see who was following the little spitfire after she hit the water. There was her mother, Jenny, eating what had to be the world's largest dill pickle. She made her way to the deck recliner next to mine and fell into it.

"I swear to God I don't remember getting this tired with Millie. It was all I could do to get through work last night. JD, I'm going to apologize in advance for falling asleep on you."

"That's right. Someone told me Millie's going to get a little brother. That is really great."

"Yeah, it is, and hopefully it won't be a green baby brother that resembles Kermit the Frog. She prays for that every night at bed time. But I'm so tired. If I had been this tired with Millie, I wouldn't have had another baby. I would have adopted one."

"You know, my mother told me once that mothers are programmed to forget all about pregnancy and child birth, or they'd never have more than one child."

Jenny chuckled and replied, "Your mother was a very smart woman." She looked at the pickle in her hand. "You know normally I hate dill pickles, but when I get pregnant, the stock prices for companies that make pickles must go up."

"I read that cravings like that is your body telling you that you need some kind of vitamins or minerals. Make sure you're getting enough. Talk to your doctor about it."

Bigger than an NFL nose tackle (I would have said bigger than shit, but ever since I've acquired my ride, I've used the 's' word too much), by the time I finished my lecture on prenatal cold pressed natural supplements, the expectant mother was sawing logs. So much for my dreams of charm and conversational abilities, this woman killed them all.

Sander sat in the chair next to mine. "You know, I've bought her the best prenatal vitamins you can buy, but she forgets to take them. I'm thinking of putting Millie in charge of her mother's medical regimen."

Before that conversation could go any further, Billie sat in Sander's lap and laid a scorching kiss on his lips. "I need to borrow my client from you for a while, stud muffin. I'll return him when he's seen the light."

I groaned, "Billie, I can't think right now. Sal kept me up all night and Les got me up before daylight. I was thinking about joining Jenny in Sleepy-By Land."

The 'Sweetheart Billie' that was sitting on Sander's lap was replaced by something that resembled hard, cold stone. "That's too bad. You should have thought about that while you were abusing her."

"Abusing..."

"Oh shut up and follow me to the office. You desperately need a lesson in Contract Law. I don't believe for a minute you weren't exposed to this in Civil Engineering."

I know when to follow orders. I followed my, I think, lawyer into the house. When we entered the office, she pointed to the leather wing chair next to Sal's desks. She then closed the door and turned the lock.

 
There is more of this chapter...

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Close
 

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT...

Storiesonline is for adult entertainment only. By accessing this site you declare that you are of legal age and that you agree with our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.