Don’t Judge the Judge by themaneloco
Dive into 'Don't Judge the Judge by themaneloco,' an electrifying erotic sex story that explores taboo desires and unexpected passions. Follow the seductive journey full of intrigue and temptation—perfect for those seeking thrilling romance and steamy encounters. Unlock your fantasies now!<br/>
Judge Sanders is the first female judge in her city. All is going well until a new stenographer named Emilia begins working at the court. Judge Sanders can’t help but notice how glamorous and sexy the Latina typist is, particularly her feet. Gradually, she begins worshipping Emilia from afar until eventually Emilia notices and realises the power her feet have over her boss. , Being the only female judge in my city carries weight. It had been a long road of ambition, education and professionalism to reach the height that I had. I’d barged my way through sexism and misogyny to sit comfortably in one of the most respected positions in the community. When I sat on that bench overseeing a hearing, it said ‘Judge Sanders’ on the nameplate and everyone knew it. I was in charge.
Being a moderately attractive woman with that level of power also drew its fair share of admiration and respect. I was a popular body around the courthouse and most considered me a delight to work with. I also had the reputation of being professional and fair in my verdicts. I was a force to be reckoned with, and I thought nothing would get in the way of my ascent.
Things changed when the court hired a new stenographer. Previously, recruitment had favoured ladies of an older variety; glasses and greying hair being the staple look. However, this time the newest member of the courthouse was a young, petite Latina by the name of Emilia. She couldn’t be any older than her mid-twenties and a lot of the male employees were quickly smitten with this fresh face around the building. She’d yet to sit in on one of my hearings, though I’d noticed her around. What stood out was that her dress attire wasn’t at all suitable for the formal environment. Whereas every other employee wore smart suits or modest, formal dresses; Emilia would turn up in a knee-length, bright summer dress, even in the cold weather.
At first glance, I was a bit annoyed by Emilia. She drew a lot of attention away from me; attention I’d worked very hard to obtain. After all, it was difficult for a woman to achieve what I had at this age and any attention and respect that was geared in my direction was most deserved. This girl was stealing it away by simply being exotic and pretty, not an ounce of hard work involved at all. I disapproved of her recruitment on all counts.
Words of disapproval quickly spread. A few of the older judges in particular took a dim view of the new employee, as they felt her attire was disrespectful to the traditions of law. Some did comment in a lecherous way regarding her above-average appearance, but the general consensus was that a quiet word with her was needed. I readily agreed. That was until spring came around and she wore a pair of designer heels to work one day. My opinion of her flipped in an instant.
I kept my sudden change of heart to myself, fearing that my peers would consider me soft or a hypocrite if I suddenly championed her corner. I couldn’t tell them why I had taken such a liking to this girl out of nowhere.
You see, even though I’m a married woman in my forties, I’d always had a thing about fashionable shoes. Emilia’s summer dresses usually led down to a pair of high heels, wedges or sandals and after noticing them for the first time, I couldn’t stop myself from looking down whenever I passed her in the hallway. What didn’t help was that her feet were very pretty, and always perfectly pedicured. On a few occasions I’d noticed the glimmer of jewellery too, whether it be a toe ring or an anklet. Frankly, I had no longer had any problem with the way the girl dressed, if anything, I liked it.
I wouldn’t consider myself a lesbian, but there was just something about her choice of footwear that grabbed my attention. Perhaps there was a little envy in it as I’d never been comfortable wearing such shoes. I didn’t think they looked particularly good on my chunky ankles and my feet were far from what would be considered pretty. Emilia would wear them with such confidence and strut around the building with an elegance that I silently admired. It was as if my love of fashionable shoes could be lived vicariously through this sassy, young Latina. I had wanted to start a conversation with her where I could drop a compliment in, but lacked the courage. Despite being in the enamoured position of being the first and youngest female judge in the courthouse, there was something about Emilia that drained my authority. I felt exposed and vulnerable whenever I saw her in her strappy wedges. She was on the very bottom of the ladder in terms of career progress within the courthouse, yet, I was intimidated and infatuated by her.
Emilia knew she was a knockout too. I’d seen her countless times taking photos of herself in the restroom mirror, whilst flicking her hair and pouting her lips. Even when disturbed by another occupant such as myself, a judge, she wouldn’t betray a single air of self-consciousness. If we accidentally made eye contact, I’d sheepishly look away. If anything, I felt like I was the one being inappropriate by disturbing her mini photoshoot. This girl had a natural presence, one that surpassed my own that I had worked so hard for.
So, it brought a tremor to my limbs when I first saw Emilia’s name listed as the stenographer to sit in one of my hearings. The whole morning, I daydreamed of ogling her dangling heels as she typed away. I was even worried that it may distract me from my performance as a judge. I took my job seriously and prided myself on being fair. But there was something about this girl, something that I couldn’t resist. I actually felt guilty for being so against her at first.
I was left disappointed however, as Emilia turned up to the court in a smart dress suit and closed pumps. I reasoned that maybe it was because I was a female judge, and she didn’t feel the need to dress in a revealing way to court my favour. Whatever the reason, I was underwhelmed by our first day of work together. It was not the hours of dangling and dipping I’d envisioned.
The hearing was fairly straight forward, and with the way Emilia was dressed there was nothing to distract me from overseeing it in a professional and efficient way. She typed away without a problem throughout; clearly, she was good at her job and had gained it on merit. That I had to hand to her.
When the day was over I packed up my things ready to leave, but noted that Emilia was still at her seat. She was bent over and rubbing the heel of one foot, her face noticeably showing some distress. I saw an opportunity to finally break the ice with her.
“Good job today,” I said. I peered down at her shoes as she lightly massaged her heel. “Are you okay?”
Emilia looked up, her brown eyes somewhat hidden amongst the parting of her darker hair. I’d heard that her family had emigrated from Venezuela, and it was clear to see in her dark features and tanned skin. “These shoes have been pinching me all day,” she said. “My feet are so sore.”