"What's next, Mac?" Judge Harry T. Stone twirled his gavel idly as the two hookers were taken away to the lockup.

"Last one of the night, your Honor," the court clerk said, slipping the folder in front of the judge. "Public indecency."

"I always like to go out with a bang, Mac," the judge said. "OK, Dan, what have we got here? Buns on the run? Or the whole hot dog?"

"More like a cocktail frank from the looks of him," the assistant district attorney said, approaching the bench. Dan Fielding was a tall, dark-haired man with a leer permanently etched on his face.

"The defendant," Fielding began, "is one Peter Little..." His eyebrows soared as he turned to the bedraggled man next to him, whose head came barely to Dan's shoulders. "No, really?"

"Hey, no jokes," the man snarled. "I'm sick of people making fun of my name, picking on me, you know. I'm always getting the short end of the stick."

"I would've thought the short end was what you gave them," Dan said. Judge Stone gaveled him to attention.

"But anyway. Mr. Little exposed his, uh, stick, to a group of Bible Society women in Central Park. They were able to definitely ID him by, ah, shall we say, size."

"Uh-huh," the judge said, leaning over the bench to look down at Little. "So what's his side of it?"

Christine Sullivan, the pert blond public defender, looked up from her notes. "He was only bird-watching, your honor," she said. "Isn't that right, Dick -- I mean, Peter?"

"Y-yeah, right, I was bird-watching," the man mumbled.

"Yes," Dan interjected, "that's what he told the police, too. And just what kinds of birds was he watching, Christine?"

She looked again at her notes and blushed. "I don't think that's rele..."

"Tits!" Little said, smiling. "I was watching a beautiful pair of tits!"

"A hobby I enjoy myself," Dan smirked, giving Christine a wink.

"I see," the judge said, flipping closed the folder. "Well, Mr. Little, for tonight you'll have to be the birdman of the lockup. Bull, take him away." Harry looked down at Mac, who nodded, before turning back to the courtroom. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a wrap."

As he stepped down from the bench, Harry handed the folder to Mac. "I don't know what it is," he said, stifling a yawn, "but I'm really bushed tonight. I think I'll take a nap in my office before I head home. How about you, Mac?"

"Oh, I've got some paperwork to finish up, and then Quon Lee is picking me up. We're looking for a new couch," the clerk said, hiking up the sleeves of his sweater.

Meanwhile Dan and Christine were at their respective tables, stuffing papers into their briefcases. "Hey, Christine, want to do some bird-watching tonight?" Dan said. "I bet we can find a great pair of..."

"Dan!" Christine didn't know why she always let herself get so irritated with Dan's remarks. He seemed to get some kicks just out of getting her mad, but try as she might she could never just ignore him. "Just put a sock in it," she snapped at him.

"Oh, but Christine, you'll love my nest..."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing. "You can forget it, Dan. You won't have anything to crow about tonight!" She giggled. "Get it? Crow?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Well, see you tomorrow," he said, tucking his briefcase under his arm.

Christine was about to toss the last folder into her own briefcase when she noticed a couple of empty blanks. "Darn!"

"What's wrong, Christine?"

Mac's voice startled her; she hadn't realized anyone else was left in the courtroom. Christine gathered up some of her papers, walked over to his desk and handed them over.

Mac grabbed them with a big, dark hand.

"See those blanks," she implored him. "Those, right. I didn't get the next-of-kin or the address. Do you have those?"

Mac nodded and pulled out the man's folder, transferring the information to Christine's files.

As he worked Christine sat on the edge of his desk. Her tight beige skirt rode up as she crossed her long, lithe legs. She wiggled one foot encased in a high-heeled pump, impatiently. Then she looked down at Mac and realized she shouldn't be taking her anger out on him. "Thanks a lot, Mac," she said. "I really appreciate this. It's always nice to remember there's one gentleman in the courtroom." She let out an unladylike snort.

"Are you letting Dan get to you?" Mac looked up from his files.

Christine hesitated. She knew she had a tendency to gush out her troubles to anyone who'd listen, and she'd made a resolution to stop. But Mac seemed genuinely concerned.

"Oh, Mac, I don't know why I let him get to me," she said, scooting down off the table and turning to face him. "He just -- just -- oooh, I don't know. He knows how to push my buttons."

As Christine bent over the table to talk, she exposed the deep, sensuous cleft of her well-developed chest. She did it unthinkingly. For all Dan's lecherous advances, Christine still thought of herself as the mousy girl she was in high school, before puberty. She was quite unaware of her own lush sexuality, a naivete that made her all the more attractive.

So it was with her breasts looming in Mac's face that she told him how angry Dan made her, how frustrated she was by having to work next to him night after night.

And when she hooked a leg over the table while she went on, she exposed a perfect thigh -- smooth, tanned, exquisitely shaped. And yet she did it without intent.

But as Mac talked to her, counseling her, urging her not to take Dan seriously, she became aware of her attraction to him. Mac was a big, strapping hunk of a man, with a broad chest and well-muscled brown arms. Without quite knowing why, Christine began to wonder what it would be like to have a man like Mac as her lover.

He was gentle, kind, polite -- all that she knew from working with him. But was he also as strong as he looked? Was he as big -- all over?

"So, Christine, you have to stop letting him get to you," Mac was concluding. "He's not going to change. And when you try to argue with him, it just encourages him." He looked Christine straight in the eyes. With a flush, she realized she was getting wet -- down there.

Embarrassed by her reaction, Christine snatched up the papers. "Thanks, Mac, I've..."

As she turned to go, her fumbling fingers dropped one of the sheets. She stooped to pick it up at the same time Mac got out of his chair to retrieve it. Their hands touched, his arm brushing against her breast.

They froze for a moment.

"Here -- uh," Mac burbled as he clutched the paper, still half bent over.

"I've got it, I --" Christine faltered.

They both rose, standing with their faces only inches apart, Mac's dark visage bent to Christine's pale skin.

It seemed the most natural thing for Christine to put her arms around his shoulders and lift her lips to his. Their mouths touched, tentatively at first. Then hungrily, Mac's arms enfolding Christine's petite body and pressing it to him. She felt his probing tongue and met it with her own.

They kissed -- it seemed like forever to her. And then they moved apart. Mac looked away, then down at his feet. Christine didn't know what to say. She felt a little wobbly. Her panties were soaked with secretions.

"Christine, I..." Mac began. And then she knew what to do. Christine moved toward him, her arms curving around his waist. Their lips met again, pressing together, mouths open, devouring each other.

Mac's fingers moved to her silken blouse, fumbling at the buttons until they popped loose. Christine shrugged off the sleeves and unhooked her bra, letting it slip down and expose the massive mounds capped with rosy circles and stiffening little buds.

Mac took each in one of his large hands, palming them, rubbing the sensitive nipples.

Christine tugged his sweater and shirt out of his waistband and caressed his flat stomach.

They kissed again, greedily, so hard that flashing lights danced before Christine's closed eyes.

And then Mac tore off his shirt and sweater and knelt before her. Gently he unzipped her skirt and tugged it down, then her pantyhose and panties. He put his face between her pale thighs and approached her musky slit.

Christine held her breath as he approached. Mac kissed the insides of her thighs, the small bush of yellow hair, licked at the outer lips. She was going crazy. No man had ever been willing to do this to her. What would -- Oh God! Now he separated her labia with his fingers and slipped his hot tongue inside. Fluids gushed out of her as Christine shivered and shook to an instant orgasm. But Mac continued, teasing her opening, tickling her clit, driving her to new heights.

It became too much. As she felt herself toppling to another orgasm she pushed him away.

"I want you," she told him, her voice deep and husky with lust. The thought of his cock inside her was all she could focus on. She envisioned it large, but even so when it sprang free as Mac peeled off his slacks she gasped. It was huge! Eight inches of thick, dark rod, with a fat bulbous head leering at her with its single eye. She spread her legs far apart and lay back on the desk, shoving all the papers to the floor.

"Put it in me, Mac," she begged, writhing beneath him, caressing her own breasts.

"Here it comes," he said in his quiet voice. She felt the head at her entrance and looked up. It was too big, she thought, too big -- but then it was in her! And she felt her walls giving way as Mac's massive shaft split her wide open.

It was a feeling unlike any before. Never had she felt so filled, so sated. Mac fed his snake into her deeper, deeper. He lifted her legs, holding them high. And then it was all the way in. Christine shrieked with delight.

But the best was yet to come. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly he moved his cock out of her, and then in. The tantalizing rhythm kept her close to the edge but not over it. Emotions flooded her brain. Her entire body seemed aboil.