Stephanie's Day In Court

(by fan request and based on a recent photo)

"I think I've already made it perfectly clear that I'm not allowed to speak with
you on this matter!" Moments later, Stephanie angrily pressed the "end call"
button and raised her arm to fling her cell phone across the room. The presence
of her informal entourage was the only thing that prevented her from firing the

If she wanted to, Stephanie McMahon could go from zero to bitch in less than a
second. In fact, as a previous birthday present, both her father Vince and her
husband Paul had purchased white halter tops that read as much. She was wearing
one of them now, in the early hours of Sunday morning, along with a pair of lycra
and spandex pants. Her hair was still in a ponytail and her face was flushed
red, a combination of coming from her morning workout and the offensive telephone
call for which someone was about to pay quite dearly. The team of attorneys
representing her father rounded out the gathering in the high rise offices.

Stephanie and Paul had been receiving harrassing telephone calls from the Justice
Department since the beginning of the trial that local papers had titled "The
Vince McMahon Steriods Trial". Government investigators and attorneys had been
calling her more than her husband in recent days, as the trial got underway. One
went so far as to approach her as she, her husband, and one of the attorneys were
walking down the courthouse steps for the lunch break. Paul was about to rip the
attorneys arms from his sockets when the their legal counsel stepped in between.

"We'll be speaking again, Ms. McMahon," said the DOJ attorney.

"Not unless you want a harrassment suit," said her counsellor.

"And not unless you want me to shove my fist so far up your ass it comes out your
your pencil neck throat!" shouted Paul, as the attorneys walked away.

The calls, of course, hadn't stopped. Most were meant to make Stephanie feel
uneasy regarding her father's chances for victory, reporting to her personally
what she already knew...that several former pro wrestlers were already arrayed
against her father, and how, if she cooperated, the US attorney would lighten the
ramifications against her father. They played on her sense of family. They even
stole a storyline right from the writing team about how Stephanie would even be
eligible to take the reins of control for the family business with her father in

"That's it!" snapped one of the attorneys, ironically the one Stephanie was about
to fire her telephone at. "Tomorrow, we're filing for sanctions." The only eyes
of even slight support came from her husband, but most of the reactions in the
room were shouted and empty promises of varying forms of revenge. Stephanie
turned and stormed out of the offices. Paul was about to follow, but someone
must have stopped him because her last look was at Paul, looking back at her in
the closing elevator while being pulled aside.

Stephanie dialed a number on her cell phone again. "Yes, get one of the limos
out front. I want to go home." The elevator doors opened to the large lobby and
Stephanie headed for the glass doors at the front of the building, through which
she watched as the limo pulled up. She didn't even wait for the driver to come
around and open the door, choosing to open it herself and flop down on the long,
black leather seats, slamming the door behind her.

"Take me home now!" she snapped. The driver rolled up the window seperating the
passenger compartment from the driver's. Shortly afterwards, the limo pulled
into traffic and started driving. Stephanie continued fuming about all the calls
and inimidation tactics the government had used against her. If she ever decided
to return to the family business as an on air personality, she was certain she
could get the "bitch" role down perfectly now, if she'd ever failed at it before.

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. For the first time, she noticed
the distinct scent of lilacs in the rear compartment. Stephanie always used a
lilac foam for bubble baths, as well as using other lilac scented items when she
and her husband decided to become intimate. The scent was quite relaxing, and
she was glad the driver decided to use it, although she still couldn't find the
source. She relaxed in her chair, not truly caring where the scent came from.
She felt silly for caring, as well as silly for her attitude moments ago in the
offices. She giggled to herself about the look on the poor pencil-neck's face
when he thought he was going to get hit by her cell phone. She imagined his head
spinning around several times, like on a Saturday morning cartoon, which caused
her to laugh out loud for a moment.

Her body suddenly began to feel very tired. Her arms were heavy from the weights
she'd pressed hours ago, and her legs suddenly felt rubbery. Stephanie chuckled
at the idea of herself becoming a rubbery woman as the scent of the lilacs
became stronger. Still smiling, she began to drift off to sleep, surmising that
all she needed was a short nap, and everything would be quite fine when she
awoke. She never realized that the limo was certainly not on the way back to her

* * *

Stephanie awoke to the feeling of stiffness in her arms and legs. She was still
quite groggy, which was out of place for her physical conditioning. It only
took her a scant moment to realize that something was dreadfully wrong when her
arms would respond to the command to come down from over her head. A command to
sit up was met with her body's complete contemptuous rejection, with only her
head moving to see a man sitting in a chair across the room.

"I see you're finally awake," he said. He stood up and walked towards her,
forcing Stephanie to realize she was laying on her back. She also saw her legs
were spread apart, with each ankle fettered to some kind of weird looking table
unfamiliar to her. The man stood over her in short order, causing Stephanie
great fear.

"Interesting halter, Ms. McMahon," he said. "Your profile does indeed match this
statement." The man tapped one of the large letters on the halter, and Stephanie
immediately tried to pull away from the obvious fact that the letter fell right
in the middle of the brunette's ample cleavage.

"Who are you?" Stephanie snapped, trying to regain something that resembled
control and dignity. "What do you want? You don't even KNOW how much trouble
you're in!"

"Actually," said the man. "I know exactly how much trouble I am in." He paused
for effect. "None. As for your first two questions, you need not worry about
my name. They call me PJ. PJ from the DOJ. I'm the guy they hire to obtain
the information that the lawyers can't obtain from the witnesses that feel they
are untouchable."

Stephanie's fear increased many times over, with all the flashbacks of threats
that she, her husband, and the lawyers had all made to the DOJ. The man before
her was a rather shady looking individual, wearing almost all black clothing.
Certainly, she was going to be harmed in some way, and she started looking up and
down the man as best she could, so she could give the information to the lawyers
later. The man noticed all her head movements.

"Don't bother trying to remember me, Ms. McMahon," PJ said. "I change my look to
match my victims." Indeed, the man had hair that was exactly her shade of
brown and blue eyes to match, which the man explained to be color contacts. "You
know, the type actors use when they need to change eye color?" PJ found this
slightly humorous and chuckled to himself as he leaned down under the table and
brought forth some type of mask.

"Besides," he continued. "Shortly, you're memories of this incident are going to
prove to be unreliable." Stephanie twisted her head, but the limited movement
that she had been allowed failed to protect her from the mask being placed over
her nose and mouth. If anything, it helped. PJ reached under the table once
again, and instantly, Stephanie's sense of smell was overcome with the same lilac
scent from the limo ride.

"I hope you enjoy the odor," said PJ. "My research indicates you are fond of
lilac scents. It was quite expensive to find a person to inflitrate the odor on
top of the nitrous you've been inhaling all morning.

Nitrous, Stephanie thought for a moment. She smiled widely as she realized what
PJ meant. "You mean *laughing gas*?" She chuckled at the thought of laughing
gas, and how silly a choice PJ had made if he expected to obtain information.

"Gas me to the end of time," Stephanie giggled. "You're not likely to obtain any
information that way." PJ reached down a moment later and the lilac scent left
the mask, while leaving Stephanie in a giggling fit on the table. Her limbs were
rubbery again, and the whole room was spinning. PJ began to look like a balloon
toy, as it deformed in one place or another for a brief instant.

"It's not the gas that I expect you to cooperate from," said PJ. "I expect your
cooperation from this!" He immediately placed his hands near Stephanie's
underarms, and his fingers began to vigorously tickle her body. She immediately
went from chuckling to hard laughter while PJ explored the sensitive spot. His
fingers began to drift down the sides of the halter top, dancing gently across
the lycra as Stephanie twisted and jerked her ticklish body in a vain attempt to
ward of PJ's actions. The only result was her breasts quivering through the
tight halter and more uproarious laughter from the contumacious vixen.

"You see," said PJ, as his tickling fingers continued torturing the sides of
Stephanie's breasts. "I can't very well leave you marked up. I wouldn't want
you to be able to prove where you've been all day. The way I see it, your family
and lawyers will be arguing most of the morning about your last phone call and
how to handle it. By time they get home, you'll be in bed, fast asleep."

Soon, PJ's fingers were stroking between Stephanie's ribs, slowly creeping down
her athletic frame. Her tone skin only served to increase her sensitivity to
PJ's torture. What's more, as he moved down her body, Stephanie found that her
body was beginning to betray her true feelings regarding the situation. All the
days of her youth where the only exposure to wrestling she was allowed was the
inevitable tickle-fights that she lost to her then-overpowering brother giving
way to the nights she had spent under Paul's tickling tirades began to dampen her
spandex pants, her panties long since soaked through.

PJ finally reached Stephanie's completely exposed and taut stomach, where she
immediately lost it. Her laughter came in gales of screaming hilarity, and her
wrists turned red from trying to find some way to protect herself. She was
gaining back some of her strength of the gas-induced haze, but she was never
strong enough to break metal, even without the effects of the laughing gas she
had just been forced to inhale. Her back arched off the table, only to be met
with PJ's fingers. She then tried moving her defenseless tummy from one side to
another, but with nothing but tickled laughter as a result for her efforts. PJ
explored her tummy entirely, as he rightfully surmised this to be her most
ticklish region. He suddenly stopped his attack.

Stephanie fell back breathless, still chuckling from the remnants of the tickle
torture. She weakly glanced at PJ, who was intrigued with her obviously wet

"Well, now," said PJ. "This represents an interesting turn of events." He
paused to place his hand on the table, barely missing the wetness of Stephanie's
pants. He then looked the embarrassed brunette in the eye. "Doesn't it,

"Like the song says," panted Stephanie. " 'Don't call me baby'!"

"Nice try," said PJ. "But your damp pants, heaving breasts, and portruding
nipples betray your poorly acted anger, little girl. That's probably why you
aren't on television anymore...poor acting skills." Again PJ paused in thought.
"I know exactly how to deal with cases such as these. You'd be surprised how
often it comes up."

PJ reached under the table a moment, and Stephanie was immediately assaulted by
the lilac scent of the laughing gas in her mask. "Try to stay entertained, I'll
be only a moment." Stephanie was giggling again by the time PJ's echoing foot
falls had left her ears. Her arousal wouldn't be calmed by inhaling her favored
scent, and her giggling and chuckling increased by the second. Within moments,
Stephanie could have cared less about anything as long as she was able to be
released from the heat of her growing passion. She was soon laughing with the
thought of how she'd rock PJ's world if she started fucking him...he probably has
never had a woman with her stamina in bed of her own free will.

"C'mon!" Stephanie shouted, laughing hysterically at the odd sound of her own
voice. "I'll rock your world, mophead!"

"I don't think you're really in any position to make threats." Apparently she
had not heard PJ's return through the fog of the lilac induced euphoria.
"Besides," he continued. "Violence is really unbecoming of a woman of your...
attributes." The scent disappeared when PJ's hand went under the table yet
again, leaving Stephanie laughing and her mascara running down her cheeks from
the tears.

"Who said anything about violence?" She paused a moment and exploded in laughter
again from PJ's puzzled, then realizing expression. She laid back fully on the
table and enjoyed her own merriment, completely ignoring PJ's latest actions.

He had returned with a feather duster, a nail clipper, and a vibrating dildo. He
first switched on the dildo and placed in underneath a strap very close to
Stephanie's crotch. He noted that the amount of her wetness had definately
increased as he was out, further evidence that PJ may very well get another side
benefit of his job. He always loved making women talk, and smiled to himself
over his past escapades.

Stephanie again tried to look at whatever PJ was now doing when she first noticed
the vibration along the bottom of her tight ass, toned thighs, and rumbling
towards her already tortured clit. She was too late to determine what PJ had
done, and the laughing gas gave her very little reason to care, other than to
hope for at least one orgasm by time this was all over. She did see the feather
duster in PJ's hand just moments before her bared midsection was again under the
attack of tickle torture.

"Oh my," she chuckled in silly, schoolgirl fashion before once again being
overcome with involuntary tickled spasms and sexual fire across her body. The
temperature spiked in her lions each time one of the tickling feathers invaded
her absolutely helpless navel. The pure pleasure and ticklish sensations that
poured trough her body on each accidental invasion caused the vixen's eyes to
tightly close and her laughter to become mixed with moans of ecstacy, while her
body alternated from its flacid, gassed state, to completely rigid with the power
that her feathered navel held over her. The gas had left her too weak to even
think about trying to break her bonds, and her clit reminded her that she didn't
want to at the moment.

PJ still had yet to ask a question. He was far too busy enjoying the curvaceous
brunette, sweating and tearing up with laughter, while taking in the aroma of her
arousal. He very slowly and purposefully stroked and danced the feather duster
across Stephanie's tummy, glacing at her tear streaked and laughter contorted
face from time to time. He noticed her occassional squinting, and tried to
deduce what its cause could have been. He didn't take long to think about it, as
had been the case with most of the women whose sexual arousal involved ticklish

PJ paused a moment, pulling the nail clipper from his pocket. He reached into
the middle of the feather duster and clipped off a single feather that fell onto
the edge of Stephanie's pants. The girl was still chuckling, now more from the
effects of the laughing gas than the tickle torture, but that was about to change
momentarily. He noted the moans, squinting, and screams of laughter as he took
the solitary feather and began to stroke and paint the sides of her inward belly
button. PJ again paused a brief moment, which caused a groan of disdain from the
damsel in distress, only to be met with additional groans that were obviously
meant to be taken as her wordless begging for sexual stimulation that was
associated with PJ moving the vibrator closer to her covered clit.

Stephanie laughed at how far she had descended into the madness of her arousal,
after quietly saying "Please." to her captor.

"Someone's ready to be taken," said PJ. "Isn't she?" He immediately began to
invade her navel with the feather, and again Stephanie's back arched off the
table with shockwaves of pleasure and gales of laughter.

"YES!" she shouted. "Take me now!" Moans and laughter immediately followed
this declaration.

"First," said PJ. "Someone here has a few questions for you to answer." She
didn't care to look up as she concentrated on the feather tickling her navel and
the growing fire in her tight pants, made ever worse by the constant presense of
the vibrator. The voice, however, was immediately recognized.

"As I said," it started out. "We will be speaking again." The questions all
regarded dates, times, and locations of pick up and payment for various drugs
used as steroids by the WWE wrestlers. The questions were asked in triplicate,
with the vibrator and the feather driving the vixen mad. Once she had gone
through the questions for the third time, the attorney non-chalantly added his
personal commentary.

"It is a pure shame that all this is caught on video tape," stated the DOJ
attorney. "It will be an interesting evening in your household to see that you
gave up your father and husband based on your sexual arousal from being gassed
and tickle tortured." There was a pause in all the action, leaving only the
vibrator's constant churning of her spandex remaining.

"Put her out and get her out of here," said the attorney. With that, the lilacs
invaded her weakened nostrils yet again.

"NO!" she shouted. "I need to be fucked now! You promised!" Again the
laughing gas had her chuckling at her whorish commentary.

"No one promised anything," said PJ, standing over her widely smiling face. "Be
lucky I'm not keeping you permanently. Unfortunately, you'll need to verify your
comments at trial. And if you fail to do so, I'll find you again, and make it
all the worse."

The lilacs had Stephanie laughing yet again, but the scent was very strong this
time, which she rightly guessed would, as the attorney said, put her out.

* * *

The crowded courtroom was deafly quiet now, and the red-faced DOJ attorney
questioning her fought the urge to enter his own fueled rage.

"So you now deny every occurance in this document?" he fumed.

"I deny it now," said Stephanie. "And I deny it forever. None of it ever

"This is your signature. is it not?" he asked angrily. Stephanie looked at the
document that this same attorney and tickle tortured her into signing just a few
days ago.

"It could be," she replied. "But the things people can do with a computer
nowadays are astonishing." The attorney came within earshot that only Stephanie
could hear.

"Answer right or I send the tape," he snapped. Stephanie looked at him,
imitating PJ's non-chalant expression as the attorney stepped back.

"Doesn't this document say you affirm that these dates are true?" asked the DOJ

"Yes, it does," she replied.

"So when were you lying, then or now?" demanded the attorney. Objections flew
from all of her father's lawyers. Before the judge could rule, she answered.

"All of those dates and times my father spent with me," she said. "One is my
birthday, one is my wedding day. The list goes on."

* * *

Paul layed back in shock at the video of Stephanie's obvious arousal. He was far
too stunned to even press the stop button as the tape went to white frames. He
looked at his sheepish wife, then back to the blank screen repeatedly. It took
about five minutes for him to even speak.

"That was the hottest thing I've seen in years," he said quietly. "I wonder who
mixed the laughing gas."

"So you're not mad," she asked.

"Hey, how can I be?" Paul replied. "My sexy wife laughing her ass off and
begging to be taken? I wish I'd knew about this sooner!"

"Oh good," said Stephanie, with a relieved exhale. "Because I happen to know
the company that mixed in the scent."

k of the story.

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