Pawtawnee Chronicles /
(pop 2096, located on the shore of Lake Michigan, Wisconsin, USA)
is undergoing changes: a cathouse (Messalina Saph's Kitty-Kat
Lounge) has sprung up in town: this is an ongoing chronicle of
alterations wrought in the personalities of the residents as a
consequence: oppression and Puritanism persist, to be sure, but
no longer hold absolute sway...
No. 3: Judge Naughton begs
to differ with the stern pronouncements of his wife.
"Oh, shit! I don't believe it! My death-in-life fun-hating
prude bitch of a wife's on the butcher's front steps! Quick, Chastity,
get down! -- crouch in the ditch, my life depends on it!"
No. 1 or No.
Bertha Naughton, joined in holy matrimony to the County Judge,
Thurston Naughton, has already been introduced to the reader.
She's not merely a prude, she's against fun in general. A dour
expression seldom departs from her face; if she could ever be
said to enjoy herself, it's when leveling a great deal of criticism
against her fellow human beings, particularly women. At such times
an enthusiasm approaching joy might be said to animate the features
of her somewhat flabby face. But enough of Mrs. Naughton: we are
now concerned with the character of her husband.
Naughton, upstanding judge of Pawtawnee County, is in every respect
the opposite of his wife. He seeks out amusement, particularly
the sensual variety, as eagerly as his wife avoids it. He's as
trim and young in appearance for his age of 54 as she is overweight
and wrinkled for her age of 41. He was born into as little money
as she was born into heaps of it. It's the latter circumstance
which should render this otherwise improbable marriage comprehensible
to the reader. Nor should the reader be surprised that a pre-nuptial
agreement, none too much in the good Judge's favor, holds the
marriage together: Mrs. Naughton's foresightful father drew it
up and required that it be signed before assigning a more than
generous stipend, as well as eventual full inheritance, to his
Naughton, having grown accustomed to a rather expensive manner
of living, is therefore reluctant to part with his cash cow of
a wife. Besides, twenty-two years of marriage have taught him
how to best circumvent his wife's lack of appreciation for the
kinky side of life: lying to her is so much a part of their relationship
he might even miss no longer being obliged to do it; duplicity
has become so intertwined with his daily routine he might have
no idea how to go about living if deprived of the necessity of
indulging in it. Where he's been on any given day and what he's
done: there's always a version for his wife's ears which bears
little resemblance to the truth.
short, the Judge adores young honeys and, thanks to his skill
at dissimulation and unsuspecting wife, has plenty of spending
money. He's always been very cautious. Many are his political
connections; his rulings invariably favor individuals who also
frequently taste of the forbidden side of life and delight in
trampling upon their marriage vows: these gentlemen cover for
each other. Many are the times he's conveyed a randy waitress
to the farmhouse of a friend in a neighboring county, far removed
from prying eyes. The Judge has always shown good sense when selecting
partners, invariably choosing girls who live to be treated to
sensual stimulation, and care for little else -- girls who are
sluts first, and everything else second -- girls who open up inside
at the touch of his eyes, smile lasciviously, and eagerly spread
their legs -- girls who only want to writhe in delirious abandon,
sigh and moan and squeal. Add to sound girl-selection-sense an
abundance of charm and generosity and it's no wonder that no girl
has ever come forward with her story to make trouble and deprive
Judge Naughton of his escapades.
might be supposed, the Judge greeted the opening of Messalina
Saph's Kitty-Kat Lounge with unbounded joy. "Do you believe it?"
he exclaimed to his good friend Joel Glauston, owner of Glauston's
Diner. "Right here in humble Pawtawnee, after all these dreary
years of glancing-over-my-shoulder hunting, is our very own cathouse
stocked full of unflappable cuties from Chi Town! I passed by
there yesterday night, after a full day at the courthouse -- did
a quick preliminary -- and saw close to a dozen of the most delightful
nubiles a man could possibly want to snuggle up to! There was
this Irish brunette by the name of -- get this -- Chastity, and
I do believe I've been smitten from the strands of my hair down
to my tingling toes! The very sight of her -- all those curls
of cascading hair, the frolicsome look in her brown eyes, the
laughter of her curves -- the tone of her presence, emanations
of sultriness! If I don't find my way into the place tomorrow
night while the wife's at the Garden Club, I swear I'll resign
as Judge of this county! Yes, my friend, she's cast a net over
my senses, tensed my muscles, crowded my every pathway of thought
with the urge to pull her close to me, rub my body against her
hot lithe curves! What do her eyes say? They say: 'I'm a sure
slut and proud of it and I'll please you to no end, discretion
assured! I come to life in the dim light of rooms humid with lust!
I've got a bush wet with yearning -- a tight warm moist passageway
hungry to be crammed full of masculine tribute! I'll do anything,
anytime, anyplace -- you won't be sorry if you seize me with two
strong manly hands, bend me over the back of a couch, and give
me the business until I'm sore! You'll only want more as much
as I'll want it! And when we're done I'll pantingly kiss you and
you'll kiss me back and you'll stroll away as if floating over
the ground on a cushion of pure invigoration!' That's what her
eyes say to me and I'm going to do right by them -- do right by
them tomorrow night! We've already come to an understanding: I've
got reservations at the succulent dining table between her flawless
be careful, Thurston," replied Joel. "Ready and willing and discretion
assured she may be, but Bertha's doubtless thought of it too.
You've always been caution incarnate, but certainly your wife's
unconscious occasionally troubles her with facts that, when considered
a trifle too closely, don't quite add up to the sort of indisputable
faithfulness she'd like to feel is her due."
you kidding me?" answered Judge Naughton. "What are you trying
to do, wed me to paranoia? I'm already wedded to one unappealing
thing too many -- an unappealing thing that's at least done me
the kindness of being blind to my escapades, from the Julie thing
before our engagement on up to the present day! I've never dipped
my stick in honey without anticipating every possible suspicion
in advance and heading it off!"
course, Thurston, of course; but just remember: a lot of marriages
are held together far more on account of the deceived one only
seeing what the deceived one wants to see, and less on account
of the alleged cleverness of the deceiver. A whorehouse has sprung
up in town? Well, I for one am going to lie low for a good two
or three months before taking advantage of it because, if I know
my Gertrude, the mere existence of such a place is going to put
her on the alert; and this even though I've never provided her
with a shred of indisputable evidence regarding my extracurricular
so you'll miss out on the fabulous sex-buffet that's been spread
before us while I'm stuffing myself dizzy! Bertha's not a problem
-- I've played the thing right -- I've interrupted her tirades
regarding the house of sin with things such as, 'Dear, such garbage
isn't worth our attention -- let it go! It's for the losers; and,
after they've been fleeced good and proper, they'll campaign against
Miss Messy -- what's her name? -- more furiously than any others,
and soon we'll be rid of her!'"
you're not overdoing it?"
never introduce the subject; I wait for her to do so. I'm playing
at being impatient with any attention being given to something
that disgusts me."
of course you know how to handle your wife." said Joel, giving
this conversation, Judge Naughton had returned home, his thoughts
and senses continuing to be occupied with the pleasing picture
of tumbling in private with the beautiful Chastity, Irish wench
now rejoin the good Judge on the following night at about ten-thirty,
after he's spent a solid hour and a half with charming Chastity.
She's more than lived up to the promise which he read in her eyes.
Through the years he's had occasion to sample local girls aplenty.
They all had a definite inclination for sensual excess; their
twitchy itchy behinds had betrayed as much by sending waves of
desire through the air. But, in most cases, he'd been obliged
to train them, show them things. The hesitation of some of their
caresses, unsure but eager to be otherwise, had often amused him.
But to spend some time with a seasoned professional -- a career
slut: what a treat! To laughingly lust it up with an equal who
touches him just right, not too bruskly nor too daintily, in just
the right places! Those special minutes when she'd been seated
atop him, gripping his waist with her thighs, while he'd been
thrusting upwards! -- when he'd been dazzled by the firm softness
of her stomach, heaving chest, placed both of his hands on her
soft firm succulent breasts, and joyfully squeezed! -- when she'd
swished her long crackling hair about his shoulders and face before
grasping his wrists, pinning them to the mattress, and bending
close to lick his cheeks! How delightful the contrast between
being pinned by her from above and freely hammering at her from
below! -- the surges of euphoria which had steadily flowed from
his chest to his belly! And then she'd tightened inside -- panted
raspingly -- at the same time that he'd delivered the last burst
of thrust which had heralded the uprush of his juices! How especially
wonderful for the two of them to have come at the same time! When
was the last time that had happened?
now Thurston Naughton finds it difficult to bid Irish wenchling
Chastity good-bye: his hands can't stop thrilling to the satiny
firmness of her skin, tongue is unwilling to cease darting inside
her mouth, eyes can't stop drinking in the delight of her hair,
face, breasts, belly, thighs. He knows he must leave, for his
wife's Garden Club meeting will be adjourning in half an hour;
but the closer his necessary departure approaches, the more he's
appalled at forgoing his fun before it's (to his mind) barely
started. Caution has always been second nature to him, but he's
always had to operate under caution-inspiring circumstances, among
them: (1) the necessity of understanding a girl's character before
daring to propose a liaison with her; and (2) the necessity of
finding an out-of-the-way-place to safely meet with such a girl.
But, in his present circumstances, these two highly inconvenient
considerations have been done away with: girl and meeting place
were understood to be secure from the onset. The point is: perhaps
the easiness of his present frolic has removed some of his natural
caution from the forefront of his awareness. And, if the truth
be told, there's no "perhaps" about it: he suggests to Chastity
that she accompany him to his car, simply because he wishes to
continue grasping her luscious behind and clasping her lithe body
and gazing into her lovely eyes for an extra five minutes. Never
mind that an extra five minutes spent in this manner, on account
of the chance of being observed by gossiping busybodies outside,
is nothing short of childish heedlessness.
left to Chastity to attempt to rein in the rashness of the Judge.
She quite sensibly points out that he's running an unnecessary
risk for a very small return; that she's not going anywhere, and
will be at his service for future engagements. He's unwilling
to listen, however: "My dear Chastity, have you any idea what
it's like to always be worrying whether a local girl will talk
to one person too many, and create a landslide of potentially
harmful whispering? any idea what it's like to always have to
go far out into the country, either borrow someone else's place
or settle for the car or a field, just to enjoy a girl? But now
this wonderful house is here and you're here and, dammit, I'm
going to go outside with you to my car like a man instead of like
a hunted animal and I'm going to kiss you good-bye on the sidewalk
and then drive home! It's probably not the smartest thing I've
ever done, but I'm going to do it and that's that!"
reasoning on the part of the wise Chastity fails to budge the
Judge. Shrugging her shoulders, she says the risk can at least
be minimized if she bundles her hair up and conceals it under
a scarf; likewise, she'll put on a long cashmere coat of conservative
style and trade her heels for plain pumps and carry a briefcase:
this way she can pass for a respectable woman that the Judge has
had dealings with at court. It might not completely absolve him
of suspicion if unkind eyes sight them together, but it will certainly
be a lot better than if she wore her customary clothes.
a smart and thoughtful girl!" Judge Naughton thinks while watching
Chastity put on the said articles of clothing. "The briefcase
bit is brilliant!" he says aloud.
few minutes later the Judge is strolling alongside the beautiful
Chastity outside, with one of his hands slipped up inside her
coat and dress, firmly gripping an immaculate nether cheek, thrilling
to the motion of its muscles as she moves. Unable to control himself,
he halts to slip his other hand inside her coat and wrap it about
her supple waist, not neglecting to join his lips to hers. But
almost immediately, from the corner of his eye, what does he see?
He sees his wife and the butcher's wife both standing with their
backs to him half a block away, apparently engaged in an absorbing
rehash of what went on at the Garden Club meeting, which has ended
earlier than usual. He springs away from Chastity as if about
to flee, suddenly pauses seemingly at a loss, and finds himself
glancing towards the creek which runs alongside the street.
shit! I don't believe it! My death-in-life fun-hating prude bitch
of a wife's on the butcher's front steps! Quick, Chastity, get
down! -- crouch in the ditch, my life depends on it!" he hears
himself say in an erratic whisper while glancing at his wife's
back with rising apprehension. He's barely finished speaking before
he jerks towards the creek embankment; another step, none too
graceful propels him onto the slippery grass of its edge -- and
then, as he watches Chastity stroll in the opposite direction,
the Judge loses his footing and slides into the creek. His ears
exaggerate the volume of the splash he's made (really not all
that loud) and, in his panic-inspired efforts to steady himself
to prevent more splashing, only succeeds in doing the opposite
as he falls squarely onto his side in the water. He imagines his
wife has heard it and is already walking over to investigate;
prodded by this supposition, he rapidly crawls on all fours as
quickly and quietly as he can to the metal tunnel, about two yards
in diameter, which allows the creek to pass under a nearby cross
street. Once inside the tunnel he freezes, hardly daring to breathe.
more clearheaded than the Judge in this circumstance, has decided
that the best course of action is for her to separate herself
from him so as to rule out any chance of them being found together.
She quite calmly strolls back down the street, away from Mrs.
Naughton and her friend, to grab a snack at the convenience store.
And, besides, why on earth would she want to soil her fine coat
in a dirty creek?
episode: the spirit, bravado, and inventiveness shown
by Judge Naughton on his long journey home, which he doesn't reach
until the following morning. "Stuart, my friend, I'm not sure
I've lived until tonight! I've drudged about with that matrimonial
choker around my neck for far too long, and I just don't care
anymore! If the wife finds out, then so be it! I'll probably end
up being a better man for it!"
No. 1 or No.
Pawtawnee Chronicles: Chronicle
© 2001 Sliptongue, Inc.