Slutty Judge: Benchmate

Charles was jealous of me since I took the reins of becoming a circuit court judge. I did it in less time than him. I wasn't originally from Portsmouth, Virginia, or anywhere within 200 miles of the city.. I was in local circles that he, a Portsmouth native, should've been a part of, but just couldn't cut in. The issue with him seeing a short, Italian boy from the dirt poor part of Philadelphia was internal, and I wasn't the least bothered simply because I was genuine in all I'd done.

"Steven, there's no way you've accomplished all you could in such a short amount of time. What dick you sucking," he asked one afternoon.

I snickered when I wanted to burst into flames, for his envy showed even in the slightest joke. I changed the subject while we were sitting at Baron's Pub having a cold one, just unwinding a bit from our busy dockets.

"Charles, you have to know I busted my ass to get where I am," I told him.

"But what's your secret," he asked.

"Doing what's right, staying the course, and not kissing any ass," I told him before I sipped from my mug.

Charles was maybe in his mid to late 50s, approximately 10 years older than me. He wanted to put the blame on the color factor, but the more established judges and magistrates within the court system at the time were black, too, and I mean with more clout than myself. I listened to him ramble as the beer put him in a pity party, then I asked this one question:

"When's the last time you got laid?"

He took his last gulp of brew before putting down the mug, looked straight, then turned his gray haired skull to look at me before ordering another round.

"I asked you a question," I said.

"15 years," he answered.

"Fifteen?! One and five years," I blurted out.

For me, it hadn't been 15 days since Chris, one of the bailiffs, put his five inch cock down my throat. 15 years amounted to a sentence of desperation for Charles, and I attested to his wondering of how I made it where I was, to him not having the life balance to include a good nut.

"I haven't been with a woman since my dear Chelsea decided to call it quits," he said of his ex-wife.

Charles, a slightly taller, and slightly heavier black bear, could be a conversationalist, and deep down was a good natured guy, but was so career driven that he didn't allow for a real personal life. I could tell by how he hung onto me, trying to figure out how the "outsider" got ahead quicker than he did and why was unbothered.

"This is the time you need to let go," I told him. "You're retiring soon. You got any kids?"

"Two. A daughter Bethany, who lives in New York, and a son, Kevin, who's in Los Angeles," he answered.

I started to discuss them and a smile washed across his face, but he couldn't say much past their birthdays, and the little nuances he knew of them, for they had it in common with him.

"I'm guessing you're single now," I said. "When's the last time you've dated?"

"That's the thing. Since Chelsea and I split, I haven't been with anyone else," he told me.

"You need to live a little. Don't let trials and arraignments, or your conviction rates be the only drive," I told him.

We both ordered another round, but wouldn't finish because we had preliminaries to endure. At four o'clock that afternoon I was finally finished, and decided I would go out for dinner, but didn't want to be alone.

"Care to join your brother on the bench," I texted Charles.

I mentioned I'd take him to a seafood restaurant in nearby Suffolk, and he responded quickly to say yes, and that he'd pick me up.

"Let's make it a date," I replied before giving my address.

We left my place at 7 p. m., both dressed as if we were going to a boat party. I donned my shades, my pink Ralph Lauren short sleeved shirt to go with my favorite cargo shorts, and designer flip flops. He dressed similarly, minus the shades, and with a cologne that poked at my senses the moment I sat in his BMW. Charles also had a fresh hair cut which revealed a set of waves, and he cut off his thick, gray mustache as he looked much younger, and handsome. We took the 15 minute ride while listening to rhythm and blues, with him singing towards the sunroof as he whizzed through Hampton Roads traffic. This was a different individual than what I was used to, and I liked it, for it seemed he was finally letting his hair down.

"These crab cakes make me feel like I'm in Baltimore," Charles said to me.

We made it to Decoy's, a popular establishment where he doted on the goods.

"You've never been here," I asked.

"You know I live in Williamsburg," he said. "I hardly come to this side of the James unless its for work."

We had a cocktail while devouring our food as I had fish tacos. Charles and I weren't on the bench at the moment, we were friends, a white guy from Philly, and a black guy born and raised in Portsmouth. We compared our upbringings, and talked about the good times within. We mentioned our kids, with him laughing majority of the time while bragging of his two, and me cursing as I brought up my four, and their offspring. We finished our meals right as the place was preparing to close, and Charles came up with the idea to ride around on a beautiful night.

"Tomorrow busy for you," he asked.

"No. Its Saturday," I reminded him.

My body jerked as he sped up putting his foot to the metal on Route 17, heading west towards the James River Bridge. There wasn't a red light or cop in sight in the dark night, and we'd eventually end up on the legendary bridge hovering over the historic river. He turned up the music as he slowed down a quarter of a mile onto the platform, then looked at me and smiled.

"You good," I asked.

"I'm great," he said as he reached his right hand over to rub the back of my head.

It was a surprise he did that, and I wouldn't pull it away for it felt good feeling a hand rubbing the back of my head. We finished darting across the bridge to run into Newport News, and the first red light where he decided to make a confession:

"I ain't had my dick sucked in so long."

I looked at him then smiled, and he drove through the green light as we made our way on Mercury Boulevard.

"Chelsea wasn't the best at it," he added.

I got the idea he knew of my trysts behind closed doors, but I wasn't sure of his resource of information. We pulled into the parking lot of what looked like an abandoned warehouse, and he'd park in the middle of the huge adjoined parking lot, right beside a pair of trees. I raised the console between us for I figured he wanted me to help him get off.

"No no, keep it casual," he said as he put his hand on the front of my forehead.

I didn't understand him stopping me from going down, and looked at him oddly until he started unbuttoning his shorts. He pulled down his boxers to release that black stallion, one that was easily between eight to 10 inches in length.

"What you want me to do," I asked.

"Jerk it for me," he said as it was fully erect, leaking a small amount of precum.

I wanted badly to wrap my lips around it, but he wouldn't have it, so I spit in my left hand, and looked casual while rubbing, squeezing the tip, before pushing down to the shaft. Charles' dick was so hard, and something I would've risked it all for as my hole was twitching. I stroked it slowly, going from under his thick, pink mushroom tip, down to the thick base, thinking about how I could put my tits in his face while rotating my ass on it. He for sure would've stretched me, and it would've felt marvelous with my hole struggling to contain his bone. I looked around as he leaned back in his seat, with Patti Labelle's "If Only You Knew" playing across his speakers. There were hardly any cars rolling on Mercury, and where we were parked was dark, with no vagrants, or weirdos trudging in the area to spook us. I wanted badly to go down on him, but he refused to let me suck him.

"Just stroke it," he kept saying before a moan or whimper.

I reached my other hand on his balls to feel them lock up, the big pouch rock hard as he was close to a climax. I sung the song in my head, then started to stroke to the rhythm. I looked at him to see his eyes closed, and licking his lips as he was on the cusp of getting out that load. I let go of his sultry nuts and stroked that dick with two hands for it was so thick.

"Fuck," he cried out, and the white stuff released as if his cock was volcano.

The way he shivered, the way he clenched his teeth and cursed me as he blew that massive load turned me on immensely. I was honored to break this man's curse and wanted badly to lick every ounce of cum, but he made abundantly clear he didn't want that.

"Get the paper towels from the glovebox," he told me.

I did, handing him a couple of sheets, and taking a few for myself to clean up the mess. He came everywhere, and had me boiling as I would've rather swallowed, or taken it all up my ass. He fixed himself, and put down the console once we finished, and would drive off, taking me back home while going the speed limit and not saying a word.

"Good night," was all he uttered when he dropped me off, and I of course went in the house, stripped naked, and pulled out of my favorite vibrator to fuck myself while jacking off. I came like a bull not even five minutes into it, thinking of Charles and how he should've bred me. I fell asleep with a heap of cum on my belly, and woke up with my hand on top of the dried pile of sperm.

"Thank you for last night," read a text from him when I woke to make some coffee. "You turned me around with that."

I turned him out, but more importantly, made a breakthrough in encouraging him to live life a little more, and not worry about the next guy.

More to cum.