Bigtitsatwork-nikki-benz-zz-courthouse-part-two Page

Nikki, still in her impeccably tailored charcoal pinstripe blazer and a white silk blouse unbuttoned one button further than regulation strictly allowed, closed the heavy oak door behind her. The click of the lock was a punctuation mark, a full stop on the procedural world and the beginning of a more personal negotiation.

The Judge stood up slowly, his chair rolling back. He walked toward her, no longer the detached arbiter of the law, but a man. He stopped a foot away. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, not to touch, but to gently take the falling bra from her hands. He tossed it onto a chair.

“Or?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Is there a difference?” she purred, walking slowly toward his desk. The clack of her heels on the parquet floor was a rhythmic counterpoint to the humming air conditioner. She stopped just before the desk, placing both hands flat on its polished surface, leaning forward just enough. The blouse gaped further. “The evidence, as I presented it, is irrefutable. The witness’s testimony was coerced. You know it. I know it.”

Her breasts were free, full and proud, the large, dark areolas tight in the cool air. She didn’t flinch or cover herself. She owned the moment. BigTitsAtWork-Nikki-Benz-ZZ-Courthouse-Part-Two

“One day,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “You have until 9:00 AM tomorrow to file your affidavit.”

“Thorough,” he repeated, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair. He was a handsome man for his age, silver at the temples, with the kind of authority that came from decades on the bench. “Or persistent?” Nikki, still in her impeccably tailored charcoal pinstripe

“Oh, I disagree,” she said, her voice dropping to a smoky whisper. She straightened up and, with deliberate slowness, began to walk around the side of the desk. “Every room is an arena. It’s just a matter of knowing which weapons to use.”

Only then did he look up. His gaze, usually so stern and unreadable from the bench, was different in here. It was sharper, more focused. It traveled from her stiletto heels, up the long line of her nylon-clad legs, past the curve of her hip where the skirt hugged tight, and finally settled on the tension in her blouse. The fourth button, the one she’d deliberately left open, revealed a shadowed valley that had nothing to do with legal briefs. He walked toward her, no longer the detached