"Whoa,, little one, relax. Let me check this out," I said, and with trepidation, I went down the hall as Betty almost collapsed, sobbing, into my desk chair.
I burst into the room. The sheriff and the judge were both naked, and Weldon Stone was fondling the enormous tits that Linda wore so proudly. His cock was being petted and stroked by the girl, and I could detect a half-fearful look on her childish face.
"Jim is he a judge? And what exactly is the score?" I demanded.
"Oh, hell, Doc, relax," Jim shrugged. "Stone likes his tender young cunt as well as the next guy, and we've hit a couple of peace officers' conventions together. He's O.K., I promise you."
"But Betty says he put her on probation, and that he's sent up a lot of kids," I persisted.
"May I interrupt?" Judge Stone spoke up. "And thank you, my dear, just wait a moment and then we'll resume," he told Linda as he disengaged himself from her tender caresses.
"First," he said to me, "let me assure you the only children I've ever sent to reform school were the ones convicted of their second felony – and then only for theft or violence. On any moral counts – never! Because while I could never before dare to avail myself of any of the beautiful pussy and young tail that's rampant in this horny town, neither was I about to waste and ruin it by getting it buried in a stupid reform school.
"No, I've had to go over two-hundred miles away for my teenage nooky. Ha, ha, but not anymore," he continued happily. "And now, Doc, if you'll excuse me, I have a tight snatch staring Me in my hungry face that very definitely needs devouring. See me in about an hour if you have any further questions."
With which comment he slid down before Linda's tiny pink crack and began delicately licking, tonguing, and attacking with such enthusiasm that I was positive the dirty old man was totally sincere in his quest for young quail.
Returning to my office, I explained to Betty what had transpired. I assured her that we held the very ultimate in leverage and blackmail over the old boy's head from now on, and anyway, she was with Jim, and if she felt that she got screwed on the juvenile sentencing, here was her best opportunity to screw the judge – quite literally – in return. She blew her nose, wiped her tears, and philosophically went down the hall to get what she came for.
By the time the morning circus was over and I had dashed over to the hotel coffee shop for lunch and returned to the office, the place had begun to look like Grand Central Station.
The four young kids who had, had to come to me at their. parent's request and insistence, I assigned to individual rooms, to await my turns at counseling them and exploring their problems. Then Dorothy Wilson, Harold's wife, came in, followed immediately by Agnes Fieser, Jim's wife. They were a little out of the pattern, and I sure as hell didn't have any time to waste with ordinary, run-of-the-mill medical or psychiatric patients. I didn't need the money, and I was not about to waste the time, either.
I escorted Mrs. Wilson to' my office first, assuring Mrs. Fieser that I'd be with her shortly. As I shut the door, Mrs. Wilson started in with a long list of complaints – physical, mental, psychic, emotional. I interrupted her torrent of gripes.
"… so get to the point, Dottie. I think an awful lot of your problems, from the sound of them, are frustrations, and the rest of your headaches and hassles are the symptoms of sexual deprivation. Pardon my bluntness, but we psychiatrists are trained to get right to the root of the matter. And I believe that is what's the matter," I told her firmly.
"Oh, Harold was right! He said you were a brilliant doctor. And yes, to be honest, that is one of my big problems. Harold hasn't been paying attention to me – physically, you know what I mean – for the last few years, and I am frustrated. He used to be so lustful, so manly and virile, so – this won't go any further, will it, Doctor?"
I reassured her on that count.
"Well," she continued, "he was horny all the time. But just nothing the last few years. And I'm lonely and don't know what to do. And earlier, I guess maybe it wasn't really too wonderful – he was always too fast and rough, and frankly, he is so big, and in a hurry."
I interrupted to tell her that I could probably fix her up so that she'd be more satisfied than ever before in her life, and then she started in on her dreams and fantasies.
"I never went for the John Wayne types. I've even had a little flirtation going with our paper boy. He seems cute and such a sweet boy, always so clean and polite and quiet and gentle." She was almost simpering now. "I guess I'm just a little girl at heart." God, how coy could a fortyish matron get?
"Yes, fine, Dottie, fine," I agreed. "Well, you just go into the second room down the hall and I'll be with you in a few minutes. If you want to," I added casually, "just disrobe and lie down and relax. The blinds are drawn, and it'll be nice and quiet."
I returned to the office and talked to Agnes Fieser. She said that the sheriff seemed to feel I knew what I was doing, and by the time we had verbally scratched the surface, I saw the need for privacy, so I sent her to a room and said I'd be there in a moment. I'd seen Bob Cook, the druggist, coming up the walk, and I told him to be seated in the lobby while I finished with another patient. I went down the hall to where Mrs. Fieser waited for me.
As I turned to lock the door behind me, I heard Agnes Fieser's voice. "Look at me, Doc. Not half bad, eh?"
She had stripped and was standing, arms akimbo, and I sure as hell had to agree as I surveyed the soft, full tits that covered her chest completely, and the lush rounded hips that met at her prominent heart-shaped pubes. She smelled arousingly delicious.
I realized that she was prating rapidly, and brought my thoughts back as she said, "… and so we haven't had any lovemaking for over eleven years. He's just too damned big for me, and after I had to get ten stitches where he tore me last time, we agreed to skip the sex life. But, Doc," she was almost pleading, begging for help, "I can't go on this way. A woman isn't meant to live alone. I know he's getting some on the side, and since it's my fault, I've never asked any questions, but the damned road has to run both ways, right? All I want is to be loved. But I can't and won't have that tree trunk of his rammed up me all the time."
"I don't know why," she continued. "I have such a big lush body on the outside, and inside I'm tinier than an adolescent girl, but those are the facts. Now, what's the solution, Doc? Jim did say that you were smart and discreet. Can you help me?"
"I think I might have the perfect solution for your little problem, Agnes," I assured her. "Now you'll just have to trust me, and be honest with both yourself and anyone that I call in for assistance. Can you promise to do that?"
"Oh, yes, yes. Anything. I'll be so grateful."
I told her to wait a moment, and hurried to where I had the four boys stashed. After kidding with them a minute to relax them, I selected Dan Gallery and Tom Petrovic, and had them come with me. As we walked down the hall, I asked them point-blank how they'd like to have a couple of real women to make love to – not silly teenage girls. Their joyous response confirmed my first impression.
I put Tom in with Dottie and Agnes got Dan, and I then returned to the other pair of boys waiting for me. I told them I had to cancel their appointments, that I had just gotten too busy to take care of them today. I rescheduled them for the next day, and they departed.
Back in the lobby, I told Bob Cook I could take care of him now, and we went to my office. He accepted the highball and cigarette I offered, and we leaned back to chat. I asked exactly what his problem seemed to be.
"… so ever since my wife died ten years ago, I've had a pretty good thing going with the high-school girls. You gotta be careful, fucking 'em gets you in trouble, but if your luck holds up, and you're selective, it's great." He smiled. "I've been selling those magazines, you know – all the goodies. and then sometimes I move a few French ticklers and some small dildoes, and things like that. Hell, a drugstore sells everything but drugs and prescriptions nowadays, Doc. Incidentally, any prescriptions you run through my store, I'll give professional courtesy. You get a twenty percent kick-back. Keep it in mind – it adds up over the years."