Of Psychopaths and Geniuses

Seducing the Judge

“You do realize, Reuven, that this is your third time being sentenced to death this month,” Supreme Judge Mathus commented as the brunette boy with fierce golden eyes popped another grape into his mouth. “You know this time, we may actually have to kill you.”

“Of course,” the boy stated calmly, chewing his grape very very slowly, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Good,” Mathus said, stroking his aging beard. “Because now I am going to turn you over to Judge Demeas. You may have gotten away with the insanity plea the first two times, but you’ll get a run for your money trying to convince this fellow of an excusable mental illness. He’s young, but suspicious and cynical.”

The child simply nodded, his sunlike eyes not betraying a thread of emotion. Even if it portrayed just a little of what he felt, Judge Mathus knew better than to believe it. Part of the reason why Reuven never seemed to lose psychological control was that the kid was the best damn con artists he had ever known. So good, in fact, that hardly anybody knew (and keep track) of his existence. Which also contributed to the fact that although Mathus was one the best and most respected judge of their day, even he could never keep the boy under bars for long. Eventually he had given up completely and preferred to sit back and enjoy the flow and hope his wrinkles would smooth out over time.

They reached their destination and Supreme Judge Mathus knocked lightly on the door before entering. It was an interrogation-like room. There was an office desk with a comfy chair behind it, and a wooden stool in front of it. Other than that and the soft carpeted floor, the room was bare.

Mathus didn’t enter the room, but let the boy enter first instead, gently closing the door behind him. The boy entered the room and slowly sat down on the wooden stool and waited until his interrogator arrived, with a guard to lock the door behind him.

His interrogator was indeed young, perhaps around twenty-five or so. He had his shoulder-length combed brown hair tied up neatly in the back. He had a narrow nose and a firm set jaw, and judging by his black necktie and British vest, he was definitely one of those no non-sense kind of guys.

He immediately sat down in the comfy chair and ordered his papers. Once that was done he focused his piercing black eyes on his morning victim. He took the boy in.

Small, Skinny, too skinny, probably malnutrition. Awfully young, couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, more around twelve-ish though. He certainly didn’t look like a major criminal. Alhtough those yellow eyes were a little queer, but then, Demeas had never met many foreigners before. “Reuven I believe?” he asked professionally.

The boy nodded, “You can call me Rue.”

The man snorted, “I will call you what I shall, Reuven. I am Mr. Demeas. That is neither my first nor my last name, and you will know by no other, is that clear?”

The boy nodded again, dark hair framed perfectly around his face, eyes staring blankly.

“Reuven, you have committed exactly 62 out of our 69 various assorted classifications of minor crimes, and were indirectly involved in 15 out of 25 more major crimes including murder, blackmail, serious theft, kidnapping, assassination, and random violent attacks on selected residential areas and directly involved in eight of those incidents, making the total of major crimes committed to 23 of 25. It seems the only classification of crimes you haven’t been involved in yet are sexual assaults, which, considering your age, is rather a relief to know.”

After a moment’s pause with no reaction from the accused, Demeas continued. “Frankly my question is why on God’s earth you are not already ashes on the open field. After all we have documented reports of your crimes, we know and have evidence of all sorts to prove that you are, in fact, guilty of everything. We both know this isn’t your first time to be sentenced to death, Reuven, so why are you not dead?”

For a moment Reuven actually looked a little sheepish. “They said that I was insane, and I couldn’t come up with evidence to disprove them. Unfortunately.”

Demeas smiled, “Unfortunately indeed.” He leaned forward to stare the boy square in the eyes, “Mr. Rue, are you insane?”

Reuven cocked his head to one side, “Perhaps.”

The interrogator grunted and sat back in his chair, writing something in his black notebook.

“I’d like to think not though,” the boy added softly.

“Whether or not you are insane is not the significant aspect here. You are a danger to society and need to be disposed of.” Demeas stated simply.

Reuven agreed heartily, “That’s what I told my other interrogators.”

Judge Demeas barked out a laugh, “Well, then, if were all in agreement here…” he gestured widely, “why not we make our way to the guillotine then?”

The boy smiled gently, an odd sight that contrasted sharply with his unchangingly steady eyes. “Of course.”

Judge Demeas sighed, “Well, this isn’t good, we’re hardly a fourth of the way throw our one and a half hour interrogation time limit and we’ve already reached an agreement. The guards wont even come to unlock the doors for another whole hour!”

“Mm” Reuven replied, finding an interest in the patterns on the softly carpeted floor. Demeas rose from his seat to stretch a little bit. It was a small room, no cameras or windows, just a light bulb, a desk, and two chairs.

Reuven simply sat there, quiet and timid, not saying or focusing on anything. Finally Demeas couldn’t take it anymore. “Goddammit kid, don’t you have anything to say in your defense???” He exclaimed as he knelt down to the boy’s height level. They were so close that their noses were almost touching, and they were staring eye-to-eye, Demeas wanting to read the boy, and his true feelings about the death sentence. Instead he became entranced by the criminal’s yellow, glittery eyes. Suddenly, almost too quickly for Demeas to register, the golden-eye boy flicked out his tongue, catching him on the tip of his nose.

“Gah!” The interrogator stepped back, rubbing his face with his sleeve, “What the hell was that?”

Reuven backed away sheepishly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Demeas glared cynically at the boy, who shrugged, “It was there alright?”

The judge shook his head and made his way across the room, inspecting a foreign picture on the wall. Reuven took his time to make himself comfortable in his interrogator’s own cushioned chair.

“So…” the boy started, “a whole two hours until I die…” Demeas said nothing, but continued his inspection of the Greek painting.

“What to do, what to do” Reuven mumbled, before searching through the desk for something relatively entertaining. Finally he drew out his companion’s black notebook and began to draw.

Demeas took note of this, but decided to do nothing against it. Let the boy amuse himself in his final hours. Eventually curiosity got the best of him so he asked carelessly, “What are you drawing?”

“You” the brunette child answered without looking up.

Demeas frowned, “Why?”

“Why not? After all, you will be the very last person I’ll see before I am disposed of,” He replied.

Demeas couldn’t help but smile. Oh so true. He did love it when he accomplished his cases so successfully. Really, he would bet money that the only reason the other judges were so unsuccessful was because the boy was simply so willing to accept his fate and die. This probably disturbed them and they declared him insane, not wanting him put to death because of his youth and their own fears of death.

He walked over to view the boy’s drawing. Demeas was taken aback, the picture was very flattering. It showed his small black eyes wide and sparkly, with a nice, neat smile framed by his long brown hair loose and flowing over his shoulders, the complete opposite of the appearance he tried so hard to obtain.

“That’s not me” he accused before he could stop himself.

Reuven’s head jerked up, face almost as blank as before, but with a tinge of surprise. “It’s not?”

Demeas shook his head roughly, “Not at all.”

“Oh.” Reuven closed the notebook and looked down at his hands. “I’m going to die today.” He stated.

Demeas grinned cruelly, “You almost sound regretful,” he teased.

To his surprise the boy nodded solemnly, “I know, and I just met you today. How disappointing.” The interrogator cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

Reuven looked up, this time his it was his eyes that were smiling, “I like you,” he said blatantly, “You’re cute”.

Demeas blinked. Did he hear that right? The boy thought he was…cute??

He snatched the notebook out of the boy’s hands and walked to the other side of the room, trying to think of the appropriate thing to say.

“I, uh, feel the same, thank you. It’s been nice getting to know you, it’s a pity you have to die soon” he said weakly as he wrote in his notebook, Oblvious of situation and a certain fondness for the one who sends him to the gallows, definite signs of death anxiety. Maybe the boy was mentally unstable after all.

Suddenly the boy’s arms were wrapped around his waist from behind him. “That makes me very happy to hear, Mr. Demeas” he said quietly. Demeas cleared his throat, attempting to cool down the blood that was rushing to his face due to this very awkward situation. The closer to the moment of doom, the more emotional he gets, Demeas continued writing, The unconscious fear of death affects us all in many different ways.

He broke away from the boy’s embrace and turned to face the child. “That’s enough Reuven.”

“What’s wrong? I thought you said you liked me.” The boy grinned.

Demeas glared, “Yes, there are-“

“It was just a hug,” he accused, “Here, I’ll give you another one” he jumped up and wrapped his arms around Demeas’ neck, legs hooked around the waste for support.
The interrogator stiffened. “It’s okay,” said Reuven, “we’ve already agreed that I will be put to death, there’s no reason to keep your guard up anymore.”

Demeas scowled, the boy was toying with him, trying to get his nerves on edge. “What are you saying, child. Or moreover, what are you suggesting that I’m missing here?”

Suddenly Reuven flicked out his tongue again, running it along the edge of the man’s jaw line.

Completely caught by surprise Demeas stumbled backwards, hitting the ground with a thud, and the criminal child on top of him.

By this point the interrogator was beyond glaring daggers at the boy, he was glaring medieval longswords. “What are you trying to do boy?”

Reuven was outright grinning as he leaned his forehead against the mans and stared intensely with eyes full of mischief and mirth, “Mr. Demeas, if you had only an hour left to live, and could do anything in the world, what would you do?”

Demeas tried to sit up, but froze as the child started sucking on his ear. “I hear you have a nice wife,” Rue whispered.

“So are you hitting on me or my wife?” Demeas growled.

“That’s not the point,” Reuven said before sealing the man’s mouth with his own.

Immediately he was pushed away by the enraged judge, “What the fuck-“ he stopped short of seeing the boy look up with those possessive eyes. Demanding. Controlling.

This kid is fusking insane, he thought, he can’t really be serious. He’s what? Fucking twelve years old? And how in the world did he think that he, a professional interrogator and judge, would allow this?

Maybe the boy wasn’t thinking. Because once again he crawled up to the judge, and with a certain swiftness, kissed him again, but this time much more gently and ten times more demanding.

The sensation was amazing. Not even frenching his newlywed wife could live up to this. It was like kissing the clouds. He could barely feel his lips, and that made it all the more tempting.

When the boy’s hands reached under his search, Judge Demeas was lost, and didn’t even know it. He still thought he was giving leeway to the poor boy since his end was arriving closer by the tick-tock.

Which was funny, since all Reuven had to do was run his hands lightly down his sides. Teasing, Touching. Their actual physical contact was less than when the boy had originally fallen on top of his judge. But God he was good.

Without even realizing it Demeas parted his lips in a gasp, and Rueven took the invitation to its max. If anything Demeas already knew about the criminal and lovemaking, was that he was good with his tongue. Very…experienced. Rue deepened the kiss.

Before he knew it, he was liplocked with someone over a decade younger than him. He found his own arms sliding up the boy’s back, as the boy’s arms slid further down.

Going straight to the point are we? Demeas thought as he glanced at the clock on the wall. It made sense, they didn’t have much time left.

As small as the boy’s hands were, he wouldn’t even have had to unbutton the judge’s slacks to reach their destination, but he did anyway. The light touches, the teasing, the temptations. Demeas had never had such a ferocious hard-on as that one. It hurt in ectasy.

With his slacks completely removed and his large dick standing straight up in plain view, Demeas moaned for release. But did the seducer go for the big guns? Hell no, the fucking bastard had to torture him first, tease him again with fingertips running lightly along his inner thighs, his wet mouth sucking and licking at his nipple. No biting, never any biting. Simply delicate and superior.

Reuven’s hands wrapped around his balls, and his mouth around his dick, just barely in time as Demeas reached his climax and released his semen. The boy swallowed it all.

It was then that a guard came to unlock the door. Luckily he didn’t peeked inside.

“Judge Demeas! The three hour time limit is up!” He said from the other side of the door.

Demeas jumped up so fast that the blood rushing to his head almost cased him to pass out. Reuven stared up at him with those wide, blank, emotionless eyes. No evidence of their ‘events’ were left on the floor, the child was quite thorough.

Again the guard informed. “Judge Demeas, the three hour time limit is up, Supreme Judge Mathus will be waiting for your verdict as soon as possible.” And with that the guard left.

Demeas stared at the boy for a moment before retrieving his pants, all the while the horror of the events were sinking in.

He was an honorable married man with a baby son and a promising, well paying job, and he had just gotten a blow job by some horny little kid! The thought made him want to throw up. What was even worse was that he wanted nothing more than to fuck the hell out of the little bastard. One thing he knew, however, was that he dreaded the day his own son turned twelve years old.

“You’re going to fucking die kid, you’ll fucking die.” Demeas snarled.

Reuven simply smiled that sweet, seductive smile, “Will I?”

A horrible, dreadful feeling filled Demeas’ stomach. Get the best sexual sensation of his life from a mentally sick child then send him to his deathbed? It would make him no better than that seductive son-of-a-bitch. But keeping him alive would be even worse, it would put his job at risk. But then, who was Adam to judge Eve?

Demeas rubbed his temples, he knew his conscious would never let him live this down, whether the boy was put to death or not. And he also knew that the demon had planned this since the start, and that he had fallen into his trap long before he met him.

Demeas could accept a lost. But he wasn’t going to be a sore loser and cheat his victory. Nooo, he will get this bitch back, if not as bad than as twice as bad.

“Just tell me one thing boy, was this how you got the other two interrogators? With your perverted delusions?” Judge Demeas growled as he opened the door.

Reuven laughed, “No, unfortunately, no. Though I must say I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. A good ending don’t you think?”

Demeas snorted as he lead the way to the Supreme’s office, “you’re not going to die yet you fucking weasel, not yet.”

“Why not?” Reuven grinned, “You want some more?”

The judge turned around and slapped him, “No way in fucking hell! But if you ever set foot again in the country of Alliaus, I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

Reuven rubbed his cheek, “Sounds fair enough.”

And with that Judge Demeas voiced his verdict to Supreme judge Mathus that Reuven not be sentenced to death, but instead sent to be under house arrest in an asylum founded way up north in a small town called Kelocyn. Of course they lost track of him within the first month of his arrival, but no one missed him and everyone was glad to see him go.