The rolling text below the TV pictures described a drunken brawl. One of the miscreants was jailed for two years, the second got a year's suspended sentence while the third had only a fine. The was a fleeting picture of the defence counsel Anthony St-John Whittingham.

“Damn,” said Judge James Thomas. Dressed in his bathrobe, he slumped back in the chair with half an eye on the flames in the log fire while he toyed with the TV remote. To any outside observer, the scene was a picture of a comfortable almost opulent lifestyle. He flicked through the news channels his eyes hardly lingering on the screen as a frown chased across his face.
"Damn," he said again. "Damn and blast it."

He killed the picture, drained the last of his whisky and closed his eyes; the miserable angst that never left his face a stark contrast with the sumptuous comfort around him.

Ten minutes later with the glass still empty the door opened.

"You're early," the statement had a question buried somewhere in the flat legal tones.

An elegant brunette stood in the doorway, half smiling, half frowning, a mobile, expressive face that might have been showing wry amusement, concern, pity; or even a touch of guilt.

"Hitting the hard stuff darling?"

"Not especially. The fact that my glass is empty provides no evidential indication of my actual consumption. It merely indicates that should I wish to drink more I shall have to make my way to the cupboard; setting aside the unlikely possibility that you will bring the bottle to me."

"You've had a hard day." A statement of fact from her rather than a question.

"You have inside knowledge?"

"Anthony told me."

"Of course... Was he gloating — enjoying the spoils?"

"Not exactly. He was sorry about today."

"He should be. We had an arrangement."

"It wasn't Anthony's fault. He had to take the case at the last minute."

"He could have alerted me. He could have picked up the phone. Even a few minutes warning would have been civilised. You know how it is, the flunkey says all rise and I, the judge, walk in, supposedly to great respect, and there he was in front of me, the grinning bastard."

"He was embarrassed, he was unnerved. It was a twitch not a smile."

"He was embarrassed? Seriously?"

"He told me he played it straight. It's not as though he said 'I'm screwing your wife this evening so you'd better be nice to me or there'll be hell to pay.' He said he behaved himself."

"He did," James sighed. "He behaved."

"So you didn't let those two off lightly because of me?"

"Never." His fist clenched, almost rose from the arm of the chair, and then relaxed. "I would never do that," he said, his voice level again. "I was presented with sound arguments and that was sufficient. In a way the distraction of Anthony's presence helped. I had to concentrate to keep my mind on judicial matters. It was, as you say, a hard day."

"Do you want the bottle?"

"No... I'm not getting drunk and miserable in front of you. I need to preserve some semblance of civilisation."

"Don't be resentful, you did good work, Anthony was impressed."

James started to rise from the chair but she stepped forward and gently pushed him back.

"You made Anthony feel guilty."

"Guilty? Two of his clients got off lightly. He must know I was rational, I did him no favours. One had an evil streak, he got what he deserved, the other two were culpably foolish."

"Anthony wasn’t guilty about that, it was about me. You were so professional, so decent, he felt bad about screwing your wife. He couldn't do it."

James blinked, leaned back in the chair and for a moment looked confused.

"You mean you broke up?"

"It wasn't a romance. I liked to fuck him, that's all. I know you never like it, but it's not what you think it is."

"I can intellectualise it but I'm still the one who feels humiliated. I'm the one who goes to work every day not knowing if you'll be home and wondering who's cock is entertaining you."

"Stop. Don’t go on. I know how you feel."

"You don't. How can you have any idea? How could you know unless it happened to you?"

"It happened to me this evening. I was sent packing because you're more worthy of respect than me."

Seconds ticked by before he spoke.

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Dreadful. Sick at heart." She flopped into the chair facing him.

"I'm sorry,” he said. “I was only doing my job. It wasn't part of some master plan to put one over on you. Actually I was on edge the whole time, frightened that I was showing some sign of being rattled."

"I can imagine," she said. "It wasn't your fault. He broke the rules, even if he couldn't help it. You did a great job, and it's made me think too."

She slid off the chair to kneel in front of him, laying her head on his thigh.

"I should be nicer to you," she said. "You don't beat me up, you haven't thrown me out and I make you feel like shit. I can imagine how it must have felt having Anthony show up like that. He really didn't intend to, but you handled it. That is so awesome. I'm sorry I've been  rotten to you."

He stroked her hair and gently turned her face so she had to look at him.

"Why? Why do you have to do it?"

"You really want to know?"

"I'm a judge."

"Why don't you divorce me."

"I'm a judge."

"Is that your answer to everything? Does that judicial mask never come off?"

"It's a wig not a mask, but it's behind everything isn't it. It's why I work too hard. It's why I try to make rules, why I try to keep to them, why I get upset when you don't."

"I still don't understand why you don't dump me."

"Is that what you want?"

"No, you know that."

"So, there we are then."

"But I hurt you."

"Yes, but not all the time."

"You don't make it easy, you suffer in silence."

"I'm a judge." For a fraction of a second he almost smiled and then sank back in the chair, his fingers still entwined in her hair.

"The plan, as I recall it," he said, "was that I would continue my career and not feel bad about neglecting you by working too many hours. In return you would take a certain amount of freedom, within some rules intended for our common good."

"Beautifully put. In tabloid speak I would get all the bonking I could find, provided it did't interfere with your work. In other words my entertainement must not appear in said tabloids."

"I tried to keep it simple," he said. "Perhaps I should have considered the possibility of a review process or some element of feedback, some regular discussion."

She slid one hand up his leg, exposing a little of his thigh and then kissing it, nuzzling her head under the robe, working her way towards his groin. Both hands gently gripped the garment, teasing the fabric away, revealing more flesh. She licked along the length of his cock and looked up smiling.

"You punish me by denying me this."

"I know," he said. "That's why I set you free. You enjoy your freedom, so what's the problem?"

"I end up being mean to you, holding it against you, pushing to see your limit. How many men can I sleep with? What's the biggest cock can I find?"

"And how close to the wind you can sail."

"Anthony is too close isn't he." Again a statement not a question.

"Does he have a huge cock?"

"Not as big as yours darling, but he uses it well and it's more available. He's not as busy as you."

"So I don't use it well?"

"How would I know? I hardly ever see it." She pushed the gown away completely and for a moment gazed at his exposed, but relaxed member. "Sorry," she said. "That was bitter. How could that not be brilliant, even if it is out of practice."

She briefly took the whole thing in her mouth, her cheeks sucking inward as her throat moved, then she eased herself away from his knees and stood up, shrugging off her dress and standing naked in front of him.

"Have you been dressed like that all day?"

"Since tea time."

"You dressed for him?"

She shrugged. "Undressed for him."

"I'm surprised you aren't dripping."

"We didn't get that far."

For a second James's eyes opened wider.

"So now you're expecting me to fuck you because Anthony suddenly grew a conscience?"

"You could whip me instead."

"Hardly an acceptable sentence for not committing adultery."

"Why must you be…"

"So judicial?  I can't be dishing out punishment without due cause, I'd never live it down."

"Who would know?"

"I would. You would. Who else matters? Self discipline is important. I can't let myself enjoy punishing. That would make me a sadist."

"Could you try that?"

For the first time since she'd come in he laughed.

"Not tonight. Tonight I'm going to make love to you, slowly for so long you'll be exhausted."

"So no punishment at all? You're letting everyone off lightly today?"

"It's time you learned restraint my dear," he said, smiling as he rose from the chair, leaving the bathrobe and the judicial mask behind, "and tonight... you will."