She was Ivy League, old-money Virginia, engaged to a Supreme Court clerkuntil Malik Reeves, ex-con turned philosophy professor, locked eyes with her across the jury box and whispered "reasonable doubt" like a promise against her clit. Six weeks of sequestration. One locked jury room. One oak table that would never forget the way her silk blouse buttons scattered across autopsy photos while he recited Miranda rights between her thighs. Every night, the marshals thought they were guarding justice; every night, Claire learned a new definition of sustained.
Imagine the fluorescent hum at 2 a.m. as Malik spreads crime-scene glossies like tarot, then spreads herhoisting her onto the evidence table, ripping lace, growling "You have the right to remain wet" while his tongue circles her clit in slow, merciless figure eights. Her first blackout orgasm hits so hard she forgets her own name; when she surfaces, he's already inside herraw, thick, deliberateeach stroke a rebuttal to every argument she ever made. Buttons skitter, papers fly, her heels scrape the floor as he pins her wrists and murmurs, "Objection overruled."
By week four the jury is Toe-to-toe, 11-1, but Claire wants the hung jurywants the nights to stretch like taffy, sticky and endless. She quits panties, lets surveillance cameras catch her riding him reverse-cowgirl on the defendant's chair, pale ass bouncing in grainy black-and-white while court-reporter keystrokes loop: objection... sustained... She times every moan to the rhythm, comes so hard the chair crashes into the wall, his cum flooding her until it leaks down her thighs in thick, cooling rivulets.
So tell me, snowbunny scholarwhen the gavel falls and the lights go down, will you sustain the objection... or beg him to overrule every last inch of you?
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