Page 54 of Judge's Mercy

I only put myself in the lineup for that particular date because I thought it’d be easy money. After all, how hard could it be to please a woman when you are a woman? I nearly smile at that but remember I’m sucking Judge’s cock and refocus, cupping his balls and rolling their heavy weight in my palm as memories of that experience flash through my mind. Imagine my surprise when something I thought was going to be clinical ended up being one of the best sexual encounters I’ve ever had. Not only because this whole new world was opened to me but also because that woman taught me things about my body that even I didn’t know. And I got paid to do it.

Just another reason I don’t trust religion. It doesn’t have anything to do with God—it’s the people. They wield their Bibles like swords, judging everyone else in order to feel better, then willfully distorting God’s message to serve their own agenda. Even Judge is a victim of this; he’s never felt safe exploring his sexuality, all because a church outlawed any kind of sex that wasn’t for the purpose of procreation in the 1200s, and it spiraled from there. It’s fucking stupid if you really think about it.

That ends now because I’m going to show Judge what he’s been missing out on all these years. Releasing his cock with a resounding pop, I sit up so I can position him to give me access to the pleasure center that is his ass. I warm him up by running my hands up and down his thighs, across his pelvis, and everywhere else I can reach. Judge looks slightly uncomfortable, so I lean over to kiss his chest and neck until I feel some of the tension release, then I hook my arms under his legs and push his thighs to his chest. He makes an uncomfortable keening sound that I ignore; the less I entertain his nervousness, the better.

“Hold your legs back,” I say, slightly nervous to involve him in this at all for fear he’ll change his mind, but he loops an arm around the back of each knee without a hint of concern. This would be easier if he were on all fours, but I thought the vulnerability of that position might be pushing it.

Reaching for the lube, I squirt a good amount on my first two fingers and smear it around with my thumb. I wouldn’t do this without asking for some internal cleaning and a glove for just anyone, but this is Judge, and the man is meticulously clean in every way. It’s why I was shocked when he started growing out his hair and beard.

Judge is not a small man in the cock department, so my jaw is already sore, but I suck it up for the greater good. This time when I go down on him, I keep my ass up high to give him something to look at. Though right now, his eyes are on me as I open wide and take him all the way to the back of my throat. I choke and gag as I swallow his tip, making my eyes water and my makeup run. It’s a good distraction for my roaming fingers that make their way between his cheeks to his puckered hole.

Rubbing his perineum with my thumb, I slowly push one finger inside him, just to my first knuckle. He curses, but in a good way, pleasure written all over his features. Twisting my finger, I move in and out, not changing the depth until he relaxes. Only then do I move to the second knuckle. He curses again, his breaths coming out in pants.

A fresh wave of arousal leaks from my pussy as I continue my ministrations, wishing I had another hand so I could get myself off too. Unfortunately, that’ll have to wait, and I don’t even mind because having Judge vulnerable and open to me like this is a gift I’ll keep forever. Long after we part ways.

He soon adjusts to one finger, so I start the process all over with two. I have to give my mouth a break, so I sit up and use the hand that was gripping the base of his dick to drizzle some lube down his shaft so I can jack him nice and slow, rubbing my palm over the head with each pull. Judge’s eyes are shut, and his face is pinched as I drive two fingers in to the second knuckle, pushing them against his front wall until I find his prostate.

“Fuck. Holy shit. Myla. Oh my god, yes.” He’s barely coherent, and his breathing has sped up even more. “I’m gonna come so fucking hard.”

“Open your eyes, love,” I coo, knowing this won’t take long, and I want him to watch.

His gaze locks on mine as I aim his dick at my chest, wanting to make an even bigger mess of myself. I know I must look a sight, but Judge seems to like me like this, and I do too. For the first eighteen years of my young life, I was taught that I needed to keep myself “clean.” Then I found out it was all bullshit, and I’ve spent every year since getting as dirty as I possibly can as a giant fuck you to everyone who filled my young mind with so much shame.

“Fuck, I’m coming!” he grits out as he clamps down on my fingers. I jack him faster. I’m like a child at Christmas, anxious and excited for the big moment. Lifting his head off the pillows, his features bunch up seconds before warm, thick ropes of cum hit my chin, chest, and tits. I bite my sore lip through a smile, happier in this one moment than I have been in a long time. It’s not even me getting off, but after finding out about Judge’s trauma, this feels like a huge step, and I’m happy to be part of it.

All at once, his body goes lax and his legs fall back to the mattress. I slowly ease my way out of his ass, and unable to help myself, I dip down to taste his cum right from the source. It’s salty but clean, and I swirl my tongue over the head of his cock to get it all before placing a kiss right on the tip. I glance up, expecting to find one relaxed and sated biker. That’s what I find to some extent, but his hands are in fists at his sides, and there’s tension in his face.

“I’ll be right back. Just gonna wash up.” I disappear into the bathroom, wondering if I did something wrong. I’m not a therapist or psychologist or whatever—I’m a professional whore, but somehow I thought that made me an expert on sexual trauma? God, I’m so stupid. This is why Judge should stay the hell away from me. Everyone else is waking up to that. Why can’t he?

Once my hands are washed and I’ve wiped off his cum, I wet a washcloth for him and return to the room, only to find that he’s already up with a pair of boxer briefs on. He notices the rag in my hand and says, “Oh, sorry. I just. . .” He motions to the pack of baby wipes on his nightstand. Makes sense, being a single man and all.

“Right.” I toss the cloth into the hamper. “Are you going somewhere?”

“No. I guess I just assumed you’d want to go, and I wanted to be ready to walk you out.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, yeah, just let me find my clothes.” I’m baffled. Judge is kicking me out. Judge, the man I’ve been begging for space from for months. Now that he’s finally giving it to me, though, I don’t want to go. Not after we just shared such an intense and intimate moment together. I had expected him to hold me captive in his room, refusing to let me leave as we snuggled for a ridiculous amount of time, and even though I would have fought against it, deep down, I would have relished every moment of it because that’s what we do.

This doesn’t feel right. Something else is going on. Instead of picking up my clothes that are strewn from here to the kitchen, I grab one of his black button-downs and slip it on. Judge is standing next to his dresser, pushing his silver-toned jewelry around on a porcelain knick-knack tray.

“Judge?” My voice is small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”

He keeps his attention on the jewelry, and his throat bobs, but not in the attractive way I like. The kind that happens when you’re overwhelmed with emotion. “All good.”

“Look at me.”

He turns enough to catch sight of me in his periphery. “You wearing that home?”

“No. I’m wearing it while you tell me what the hell is going on.” I stride over to where he stands, putting my hand over his fidgety one. “Did I fuck up?”

“No. I’m good.” His usually whiskey smooth voice sounds like he’s been gargling with rocks.

“I’m sorry.” I move my hand to his bicep, the muscle twitching underneath my touch as if to warn me off. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought you needed it.”

He clears his throat. “I did.”

That gives me pause because the man looks utterly broken, and I did it to him. “I disagree.”

“Just processing.” He reaches back to scratch his neck, but when his fingers land on rough, mutilated flesh, they freeze.

---