Penance Corporation of America III: Forced To Serve

Forced To Serve-1

Penance Corporation, Book III

Forced To Serve

Judge Wilmot leaves my office. She is pleasant but disappointed that I did not approve the writ appointing her as legal guardian of both Antoinette De La Corte and her ‘issue’, as forthcoming children are legally labeled. She expected me, in the hurley burley of acclimating myself to my new position of chief judge, to ‘rubber stamp’ this seemingly less important matter in order to focus on those matters more germane to smoothly transitioning the affairs of the late Judge Hopkins to my auspices.

Well, having received that package and phone call, nothing concerning Judge Wilmot will be rubber stamped.

With the post meridiem hour of five approaching, the administrative offices begin to quiet. If there is anything one can rely on in government it is the determination of bureaucrats to minimize the length of the working day. Thus I know activity will begin to wane and I can contemplate without interruption.

I open the credenza of my predecessor to find a small cache of spirits, glassware included. The late Judge Hopkins will not object to me pouring myself some of his fine single malt scotch.

My robe is discarded, putting to an end a hectic day. With feet up on the desk, I lean back in the large swivel chair and excogitate.

Judge Wilmot was most likely a frequent visitor to the Brooklyn dungeon of Antoinette De La Corte, as was I. Judging from her age as she appeared on the tape, it was many years ago. Now in her mid fifties, I judged her naked form to be that of some thirty years, the close up of her offering of oral gratification revealing a face with alluring but fading youth. An apparent twenty year interval has lapsed since the scene was taped.

For me the painful humiliating sessions began as a result of interning some ten years ago in the office of the U.S. attorney while in law school. Antoinette De La Corte was a promising senior assistant attorney, known more for her tenacity than jurisprudential excellence. Yes, she was aggressive, in the prosecution of law, in interaction with the staff and with life in general. It was not the first encounter with the woman to whom I reported which remains permanently etched in memory. But I know it was in the very early weeks of my internship. One tends not to forget supplicating to such power...

***

“Come into my office, Willie,” she commanded late on one afternoon.

Office visits were unusual for Assistant U.S. Attorney Antoinette De La Corte. Her style was to step from her office and bark commands to those serving at the pool of paper laden desks in the noisy cathedral-like well of clerks and assistants. She enjoyed exercising authority, even in demanding coffee. Sending a recent law school graduate on a menial errand seemed to bring glee, bringing forth a wry smile as her instructions ended with her standard closing admonishment... ‘and don’t dawdle’.

So to be called into her office meant she either intended to bestow praise, quite rare, or one’s infraction was so sizable that a private rebuke was deemed compulsory... usually followed by a public declamation of incompetence to add to the intensity of the retribution.

“I prefer Bill, ma’am,” I humbly beseeched in stepping into an office notably devoid of clutter.

“Well, we’ve got a couple of ‘Bill’s’ in the office. You’re going to be Willie for me.”

I shut the door as every private session mandated. Then, as usual, I found myself gazing in awe at the woman who made men tremble. I suppose she was in her early thirties at the time. Her hair was dark, parted in the middle and trimmed to hang straight down at the jaw line. The simple style and the athleticism exhibited by a curvaceous body which dour pant suits could not cloak, suggested a devoted exercise regimen. I pictured her working out during lunch breaks with a quick shower and brief comb sufficing to return her appearance to the mundane of office work. Little did I realize in what form she expended most of her energy.

She leaned against her desk, crossing her shapely well muscled calves as well as her arms. Her movement caused me to divert my eyes, never passing an opportunity to glimpse at such displays of formidable femininity. She caught me. When I glanced back to her face, that wry smile appeared, just as when it did while she dictated instructions to grown men as if they were errand boys.

“Yes, that’s exactly why I needed to speak to you. You have this wayward gaze about you, Willie. All men sneak peeks, but you stare. A counter productive habit for those charged with upholding the law.”

I gulped, not realizing my peeping was so evident... which it wasn’t with other women. There was something particularly alluring about Ms. De La Corte. The combination of demanding persona, physical power, and handsome good looks provided quite the aura. More beauty would have oddly detracted from her imposing demeanor, though that is not to stay she even approached unsightliness.

“I’m sorry, Ms. De La Corte. I did not know it was so noticeable.”

“It is. Do you look at all women like that?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t think so.”

“Good. I am comforted in knowing that I won’t have to bail you out of the Brooklyn jail on some charge of lewd behavior.”

Her smile broadened and she lowered her hand to ever so slightly clasp a fold of her skirt at the waist. The subtle motion caused the hem to rise, showing just a little more calf, which, in cursing myself, again diverted my gaze. She looked straight at me as my eyes once again roamed to the now expanded show of muscle and feminine allure.

I could not help myself... and she knew it. It was like that old childhood game of telling someone not to think about an object... knowing that such a suggestion will completely distract the attention.

“Want to see more? You seem incorrigible, Willie. I’ve had pet puppies display as much obvious fondness for my legs, humping away... but that’s when I had them snipped.”

She snickered and lifted a little more. I could not deny her visual offering and in turn gaped more. Her words rang with sarcasm and irony... that a male canine would find himself earning a quick trip to the veterinarian for the untoward conduct I was exhibiting.

“You have eight weeks remaining before returning to law school, Willie. Perhaps we can ameliorate your annoying habit without drastic surgery,” her words pleasant but stern.

I just nodded, not knowing how to respond. In interacting with this woman, who was some ten years my senior and very much in charge, silence seemed to be best. Internships are wonderful learning experiences unless one earns less than a glowing performance review. In such case a career in jurisprudence can quickly disintegrate.

“You’ll have coffee and fruit waiting for me every morning, Willie. Make sure you are here before me and wait sitting in that chair. Do not bring anything with you to read or write. Make sure you display proper posture. You are to focus on my arrival and politely arise when I enter. Then you can further stare at me at the beginning of each and every day. It will make your veiled adoration a little more obvious to the staff, but there are lessons to be learned. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I humbly acknowledged just wanting to end the embarrassment.

And that was my real introduction to Antoinette De La Corte... previous encounters being ineffectual in understanding her raison d’etre... not that such could ever be fully comprehended.

Yes, for the ensuing two weeks I waited each morning in her office like the puppy she had fixed. Not there to hump her leg but instead to offer coffee and morning sustenance as a playful canine would offer a stick to be thrown for retrieval.

***

A ringing phone draws me from my thoughts. In order to answer, the feet slide off the desk and my right hand relinquishes its affirming grip on the glass of scotch.

“Judge Dennison.”

My voice is direct in communicating the annoyance I feel. The private line is newly installed, replacing the number used by the late Judge Hopkins. Therefore I know the call to be incorrectly dialed. I have not divulged the number to anyone.

“So you’ve begun to administrate. Good.”

Yes, it is once again the aging female voice. I am shocked with both the capability of obtaining the phone listing and the temerity to call me in my chambers.

“I want you to intercede concerning the Antoinette De La Corte matter, as I am sure you have suspected. You are not to make it obvious but you should subtly investigate. As you can imagine from the package you have received, there is much at stake, much to be lost by many influential people. Yours and Judge Wilmot’s were not the only quivering, subservient forms captured on film and tape. “I assume you will help?”

“Yes,” my voice trembling, “but carefully. There is much to lose as you suggest.”

There comes a wicked sneer.

“Oh, yes. Willie the bureaucrat. Never one to be brazen. That is why I sent the package... to bolster your fortitude. Well, there is another package sent to your home along with instructions, Willie. Follow them to the letter... otherwise your tenure as chief judge may be the briefest in the history of the judicial branch.”

“Who is this?” my words of frustration accompanied by the click of finality as the caller hangs up.

I guzzle the remaining scotch, heartened in knowing that as a bachelor, whatever the incriminating or embarrassing material that has been sent to my home will only be opened by me.

***

A normal leisurely drive home now becomes more frantic... interspersed with flashbacks. Once understanding that my encounters with Antoinette De La Corte were photographed, probably videotaped as well, the memories become more vivid. In place of the reserved smile that usually accompanies my recollections of the episodes of kinkiness, consternation instead overtakes.

I was young, inexperienced with women, not to suggest that I am now more gregarious with regard to the female gender. A confident and authoritative Antoinette De La Corte saw something... something she secretly desired... not as one would covet a lover. But more as a child is wanting of a fascinating toy... and one that he or she is given to breaking in attempting to understand how it works.

Yes, during the ensuing two weeks of my internship I arrived every morning with coffee and various fruit. I was instructed that it was only for her. If I was to partake, it was before Miss Antoinette. During those morning meetings, I was present to serve not to share.

“Do you like my dress?” she would typically inquire, insisting on a humble compliment.

Sometimes it was the hair, though it never noticeably changed. Or the make up. Nails. Jewelry. My internship became more training in comportment and polite verbal folderol than the complexity of the law.

“You look very nice today, Miss Antoinette,” was my rote reply.

“Yes you do enjoy looking, don’t you Willie?” she would mock in sitting back and extending a leg for my visual examination, sipping on hot brew.

She would correct my posture, demanding that I remain sitting upright in a straight backed chair while she leisurely had her fruit.

“You discipline well, Willie,” I recall her observation later in that first week. “Quite obedient. Here waiting for me every morning... coffee hot... fruit fresh. What do you think about when you wait for me? Dream about looking at my legs? Giving my gams the visual humping my little puppy once tried. He only frottaged once before I had his balls removed. After that his entire attitude changed.”

“I think about how nicely shaped they are... strong but with curves. Quite athletic,” my words well chosen but seeming to squeak forth with her more graphic description of her puppy’s fate.

“There is more than just legs. I stay in shape. Lot’s of exercise. Do you exercise, Willie?”

“No Miss Antoinette. Probably not as much as I should.”

“That means never. I can tell. With guys like you it’s never. We’ll need to change that. You’d do that for me wouldn’t you, Willie? A little exercise? It would please me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ostensibly, I needed a few weeks in the U.S. Attorney’s office to just get by. Then return to my third and final year of law school with the de rigueur recommendation, which hopefully my demeaning morning chore would earn.