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The Nude Deposition


[Horny dwarf, Well-hung dwarf, Lawyer sex, Bimbo, Public sex with strangers, MF sex]

Remy reads the demand letter from her ex’s lawyer saying she owes more money, and she’s fuming. Then she hears an ad on the radio: “Screwed by the legal profession? Does the legal profession owe you one? If the answer is yes, you may qualify for a new and free legal service.” Later that day, the young beauty is strapped to a chair, nude and ready for a bizarre and erotic examination by 5 lawyers, a demented, over-endowed dwarf, and an audience of law students. Remy’s ex is claiming she’s frigid. This nude deposition will prove she’s not.


      “She’s climbing,” Professor Slutz said, her eyes glued to the monitor. “Approaching seven hundred Kinseys.”
      “Let me know the moment she stabilizes,” Professor Balzac said as he churned his dick inside Remy. One hand gripped Remy’s hip, while the thumb of his other hand gently massaged her clit.
      “Six-eighty-five, six-ninety, six-ninety, six-ninety…”
      “Dammit, woman, I said tell me…”
      “She’s steady at six-ninety-five. What next?”
      “We don’t have a case unless she climbs to seven fifty,” Professor Balzac muttered. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fucked Remy at a quickening pace. Remy was grunting with each thrust, her legs flailing, her hands fondling her breasts. “Let’s go into full deposition mode.”
      After a nod from Professor Slutz, the interns jabbed buttons and threw switches. The lights came up, and the large conference table lowered into the floor. The ceiling panels drew back, revealing a sea of faces in a circular balcony surrounding the room.
      The conference room had transformed into a large, high-tech surgical theater filled with students peering down at Remy, strapped into her chair, and Professor Balzac thrusting into her maniacally. Below, nearly a dozen interns, lawyers and technicians milled about the operating theater.
      “Numbers! I need numbers!” Professor Balzac shouted as he pounded away.
      “Still holding at six-ninety-five,” Professor Slutz responded. “What do you think? Should we call…?”
      Professor Balzac pulled out of Remy, his glistening cock bobbing up and down. He spun around and looked up at fifty law students and professors in the gallery above. Hands on hips, he closed his eyes and threw his head back.
      “Mah dwarf! Gimme mah dwarf!” Professor Balzac bellowed. “Get me mah little fucker!”
      At the top tier of the balcony, the 3L All-Male Glee Club sprang into action. Forming a conga line, eight toga-clad third-year law students chanted and kick-stepped in unison as they chanted: “Balzac wants his dwarf—now. Balzac wants his dwarf—now. Balzac wants his dwarf—now…”
      Other students in the gallery jumped to their feet and joined in. Professor Balzac reached across the computer console and slammed his palm on the red button—twice.
      The robotic voice filled the theater as a klaxon horn blasted at two-second intervals: “Professor Langerschlanger to the deposition theater. Red alert. Professor Langerschlanger to the deposition theater. Red alert. Professor Langerschlanger to the deposition theater. Red alert….”
      The double doors burst open. A hush fell on the room. The glee club stopped in mid-chant, their eyes focused on the door.
      Professor Hector Langerschlanger stood in the doorway. Dozens of heads craned and peered to see the entrance of the diminutive legend of psychosexual legal theory—and the only person Professor Balzac has ever been known to call upon in a crisis.
      Barely topping three feet and wearing a purple robe with mink fringe and white, rhinestone-studded cowboy boots, the dwarf strutted into the hushed room. He waved to the gallery as he walked toward Professor Balzac. Tentative applause swelled to a standing ovation.
      Professor Balzac smiled and thrust his outstretched hand to the professor, who pushed it aside and leaped into Professor Balzac’s arms. The taller man embraced the dwarf and pounded him on the back as both men laughed.
      “Hector, you son of a bitch!”
      “Barry, haws dey hangin’?”
      Professor Balzac lowered the dwarf to the floor.
      “Vell, Professor Balzac, so ve haff a patient, yah? Viz a problem?”
      “We have a client,” Professor Balzac corrected. “And, yes, the client has a problem. And you have the solution.”
      Remy, floating in a sex- and libation-induced haze, raised her head. “Who has a problem?” she asked weakly, looking at Professor Balzac. “I’ve never felt so good…”
      Professor Balzac rushed to her side and took her hand. “It’s not about feeling good, my dear. It’s about evidence. It’s about justice. And it’s about winning in court. Professor Langerschlanger will get your numbers where they need to be.”
      Realizing that Remy couldn’t see the dwarf, he picked the professor up and presented him to the prostrate young woman. “This. Him. Professor, ready to suit up? Or down, as the case may be?”
      “Yah, yah, put me da fuck down.”
      The professor clambered out of Professor Balzac’s arms, turned, undid his cape and twirled, flinging the garment toward the balcony.
      A gasp echoed in the theater. It never failed. His nude body, covered with a thick layer of hair, was sculpted and chiseled. Yet all eyes fell on the most prominent feature of the professor’s unique anatomy: his enormous prick.
      It pointed straight up in the air, reaching almost to his chin. He leaped on a table and thrust his hips at the crowd, evoking applause and cheers from the gallery. As he pranced and paraded, his heavy balls swung from side to side, bouncing against his knees.
      “Das not all, my lovelies!” he shouted. “Now, dis!”
      Looking down and extending his tongue, the dwarf began lapping his bulbous, red dick head. His penis, easily eight inches long and as thick as his wrist, nearly reached his Adam’s apple.

Word Count: 6,600

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