I-75
The drive to Florida was long and boring. Indianapolis to Clearwater was 1,000 miles and eighteen hours of interstate highway.
Then, I'd read a Letter To Penthouse, reading avidly the writer's description of his lady's nude body stretched across the front seat of his car, flashing truckers for amusement.
They'd pull abreast of 18-wheelers, pausing until the truck's driver looked down and saw his wife.
My wife and I had scheduled a vacation in Clearwater, a week after my reading of the letter. My fantasy was playing out.
"Roll over on your belly; now on you back - with your legs slightly parted." My wife's body is an athlete's. She keeps her 5', 95 pound, 21-34C-21 hardbody in condition with daily trips to the spa, jogging, and strict dieting.
Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and all-over tan make her a wet dream come true. Her shaven pubes seem to invite the lips and tongue to pay homage.
We'd only been married for a month and we'd postponed our honeymoon until this trip. And, then, the letter in Penthouse.
We'd played the game from Indianapolis to Nashville; on to Chattanooga, and past Atlanta. I'd had a CB installed before we'd left and we'd both gotten a rush out of listening to the truck drivers telling one another of the nude fox in the Caddy.
Nancy had masturbated herself a half dozen times, and gotten me off twice. I had another hardon, which she was stroking, and was looking forward to another nut, when I heard the siren.
I'd been so intent upon Nancy's attentions, I'd not noticed the Police Cruiser behind us. When I did see it, it was too late to react. From there, things got worse. The cruiser was driven by a female deputy; with another female riding shotgun.
The one-horse town's judge was another woman no older than the mid-twenties cops. With another twenty-something beauty at a stenotype machine and yet another as bailiff, I knew I was, in a word, fucked.
Although the women surrounding me shared in common an aspect of easy-on-the-eyes, I felt more than a dollop of dread as I stood before the bench, nude, my wrists cuffed behind me, eyes looking into of the judge's, my cock hard, precum dribbling from its head.
If possible, my cock got harder and throbbed as I heard the judge's feminine, yet stern voice. "I sentence you to fifty swats of the paddle by the bailiff; followed by fifty strokes of the strap from each of the arresting officers, followed by twenty cuts of the cane from me.
"As is the custom of the court, the defendant will be milked prior to each punishment, in order to minimize the alleviation of pain through his sexual desire."
I didn't have time to think about her sentence as my arms were grasped by the deputies and the bailiff reached for my turgid penis.
The drive to Florida was long and boring. Indianapolis to Clearwater was 1,000 miles and eighteen hours of interstate highway.
Then, I'd read a Letter To Penthouse, reading avidly the writer's description of his lady's nude body stretched across the front seat of his car, flashing truckers for amusement.
They'd pull abreast of 18-wheelers, pausing until the truck's driver looked down and saw his wife.
My wife and I had scheduled a vacation in Clearwater, a week after my reading of the letter. My fantasy was playing out.
"Roll over on your belly; now on you back - with your legs slightly parted." My wife's body is an athlete's. She keeps her 5', 95 pound, 21-34C-21 hardbody in condition with daily trips to the spa, jogging, and strict dieting.
Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and all-over tan make her a wet dream come true. Her shaven pubes seem to invite the lips and tongue to pay homage.
We'd only been married for a month and we'd postponed our honeymoon until this trip. And, then, the letter in Penthouse.
We'd played the game from Indianapolis to Nashville; on to Chattanooga, and past Atlanta. I'd had a CB installed before we'd left and we'd both gotten a rush out of listening to the truck drivers telling one another of the nude fox in the Caddy.
Nancy had masturbated herself a half dozen times, and gotten me off twice. I had another hardon, which she was stroking, and was looking forward to another nut, when I heard the siren.
I'd been so intent upon Nancy's attentions, I'd not noticed the Police Cruiser behind us. When I did see it, it was too late to react. From there, things got worse. The cruiser was driven by a female deputy; with another female riding shotgun.
The one-horse town's judge was another woman no older than the mid-twenties cops. With another twenty-something beauty at a stenotype machine and yet another as bailiff, I knew I was, in a word, fucked.
Although the women surrounding me shared in common an aspect of easy-on-the-eyes, I felt more than a dollop of dread as I stood before the bench, nude, my wrists cuffed behind me, eyes looking into of the judge's, my cock hard, precum dribbling from its head.
If possible, my cock got harder and throbbed as I heard the judge's feminine, yet stern voice. "I sentence you to fifty swats of the paddle by the bailiff; followed by fifty strokes of the strap from each of the arresting officers, followed by twenty cuts of the cane from me.
"As is the custom of the court, the defendant will be milked prior to each punishment, in order to minimize the alleviation of pain through his sexual desire."
I didn't have time to think about her sentence as my arms were grasped by the deputies and the bailiff reached for my turgid penis.
