Mini Skirts and Legal Briefs 4.5/5 (26)

Marla awoke before the alarm went off. She glanced at the clock. Only a few minutes remained before she had to get ready for work. Joe, her husband, still held her close. Only the bed sheet covered their naked bodies. Their lovemaking the night before had been particularly passionate. They didn’t have sex as often as they used to, but Joe’s needs that night were unusually urgent and filled with animal passion.

Often she would wake in the middle of the night to feel Joe’s stiff cock pressed against her, his hand cupping her breast and pinching her nipples. His touch made her instantly wet. That’s how it had been that night. Joe had lifted her nightgown, and after finger fucking her pussy, entered her from behind. After several minutes of hard thrusting, he shot his load deep inside. Then they fell asleep still nestled together like two spoons.

Marla punched the alarm button as soon as it went off and slipped out of bed. She had showered and was brushing the tangles out of her shoulder length blond hair before Joe stirred awake. He admired her shapely figure from his vantage point in bed. By all accounts she was still a hot number. She had a thin body with medium, perky breasts.

Her stomach was flat, and her legs were long and shapely. Nature had been good to her over the past 45 years. The sight of her naked body made his cock stir once again. Joe rolled out of bed and stood behind Marla. He cupped her breasts in his hands as he kissed her neck. “Hmmm, you smell good,” he said. “Got time for a quickie?”

Marla’s nipples hardened in response to his touch. She hadn’t cum last night. Joe had been too quick and she too tired to prolong their lovemaking session. The idea of crawling back into bed and taking his hard cock deep inside her was almost more than she could resist. But her practical side won out. “Sorry, honey. I can’t. I’ll be late for work. But hold on to that thought.”

“Yeah sure,” Joe said with a smile. “I bet you got some young stud waiting for you at the courthouse.” Marla worked in the records department at the county courthouse. Joe never missed a chance to kid her about the young attorneys who had cause to frequent her file room during the day.

“Right. They’re just lined up down the hall waiting to get their turn,” she said jokingly as she slipped into her conservative office attire. The head of the records department insisted on female employees wearing skirts and dresses instead of the casual clothes permitted in other departments.

In that way they matched the three-piece suits worn by many of the attorneys. Marla didn’t object to this policy, however, and worked hard at maintaining a prim and proper professional appearance.

When Marla got to the office, a small group of clerks was standing around the coffee machine. “Did you hear the news on the radio this morning?” one of them asked.

“No. What happened?” Marla replied.

“George Harrison died this morning. He was only 58. It was cancer.”

Marla put her purse under her desk and sat down. It took a few moments for the news to sink in. She had been a Beatles fan from the day she heard their first record. But she always considered herself a Paul girl, or maybe a John girl. None of her teeny bopper friends had a crush on George. But they all had the hots for John or Paul.

Paul was her favorite because he was so cute. Still George was part of a rock legend. And as she got older she appreciated George’s music more. Perhaps his songs appealed to a more mature audience. “My Guitar Gently Weeps” sounded better today than “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” Among the fabulous four, George was clearly ahead of his time. And now he was gone.

Marla sipped her coffee as she recalled how the Beatles had inspired her to defy conventional authority. In high school, one-by-one, the boys traded in their crew cuts for long hair that hung over their collars.

The girls let their hair grow long and straight, too, but their skirt lengths got shorter and shorter. Marla’s mother wouldn’t allow her to wear skirts above the knee. She didn’t think it was decent. It made the girls look like tramps she said.

But Marla found ways to dodge her mother’s rigid rules. As soon as she arrived at school Marla would duck into the restroom and put on the mini-skirt that she had tucked into her book bag.

The high school had a dress code. Guys had to wear their shirts tucked into their pants and their hair couldn’t hang over the collar. The girls had to wear skirts that hung below the knee. Proper skirt length was determined by having the potential offender kneel in front of the dean. If the skirt touched the floor, it was the proper length. If not, she had to go home and change into more “decent” clothes.

So many kids were ignoring the dress code that it became increasingly difficult to enforce. The school administration often looked the other way, but periodically they cracked down. In the spring of Marla’s senior year she was stopped in the hall by the dean and told to report to the office. She had just walked out of the restroom.

Before exiting she had glanced at her mini-skirt in the mirror. What was wrong with a short skirt anyway, she thought. It showed off her long, sexy legs. And that was a good thing

Several students had been herded into the dean’s office that morning. He called each into his office to dole out the reprimand and obligatory detention slip. “Marla, don’t you think your skirt is too short?” he asked with a sarcastic tone.

“No, sir,” she responded defiantly.

“Kneel down and let’s find out, shall we?” he commanded.

Marla did as instructed. Her skirt was positioned about mid-thigh and was clearly several inches off the ground.

“Well, I guess we have a problem here, don’t we?” the dean said with a smile.

After the inspection, Marla leaned forward onto her hands to help her get up off the floor. “At least you’re wearing panties,” the dean remarked. “That’s more than I can say for some of the little tramps I get in here. Now, go home and change into a proper skirt?”


“Excuse me. I need some help locating the court records for the State of Illinois versus Arnold Becker.”

The sound of Rick Carlson’s voice pulled Marla back to reality. Rick was an assistant state’s attorney. He normally sent a law clerk down to pull court records. She was surprised to see him in person this time.

Rick was younger than Marla by a decade. He had the aggressive good looks of an up and coming legal beagle in the State’s Attorneys office.
His body was lean and muscular. Not the heavy physique of a bodybuilder, but more like an Olympic swimmer. His jet-black hair was thick and neatly gelled. It accented his perfect white teeth that gleamed when he smiled, which he did frequently.

Marla dutifully escorted him into the file room where many of the court records were kept. The more recent court cases were stored on computer disk, but the majority of the older ones were still in the file room.
Marla quickly found the right file cabinet. Rick stood behind her as she checked each file label until she found “State of Illinois vs
Arnold Becker”. The file was heavy and thick, and was crammed into the drawer. Marla had trouble retrieving it. Rick reached around and helped her pull it from the drawer. As he did so, she was momentarily trapped between his hard, lean body and the extended file drawer. The feel of his taut body against her back sent a vibration through her spine. Her nipples became erect as he momentarily held her captive while he rifled through the file. She pushed the drawer closed and turned around.

“Wait a minute,” he said as he continued to flip through the file. “This isn’t all of it. Becker was granted a retrial on appeal. I’m looking for that court transcript.”

Marla opened the drawer and searched again. “I’m sorry, but it’s not here.”

“Are you sure?” Rick asked.

Marla checked one more time. “It’s possible another attorney has it, or never returned it. Let me do some more searching and I’ll call you when I find it.”

“I’ll be in court all afternoon. If you find it, just hold it for me. I’ll stop by to pick it up,” Rick commanded. “By the way,” he continued, “I like your perfume. What is it?”

Marla was a bit taken aback by Rick’s quick shift from being strictly business to asking a personnel question. “It’s Obsession. I think

it’s my favorite,” Marla said.

“I think it’s become my favorite, too,” he said with a smile.

Later that afternoon Marla found the missing file and called the District Attorney’s office to inform Rick. His secretary took the call. “Sorry, he’s still in court. I’ll leave a message on his desk.”

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