Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 540: Objection! My Fingers Are Still Inside Her

My palm cracked against Julie’s ass with a sharp, echoing SMACK—the sound wet and obscene, the impact jolting her forward with a violent shudder. Her back arched on instinct, her spine snapping straight as the stinging heat bloomed across her flesh.

A broken, breathless gasp tore from her lips, her fingers flying to clutch at the burning skin, her thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the sudden, shameful throb between them.

”Aaaaah—!” The sound ripped from her throat, half-moan, half-whimper, her eyes squeezing shut as her body betrayed her—her hips rolling back into the sting, her pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

Her cheeks flushed crimson, her lips parting in a silent, shameful O as the warmth of her arousal trickled down her thighs, thicker now, heavier, her body responding to the pain like it was pleasure.

”Fuck—!” She hissed, her fingers digging into her own ass, rubbing at the handprint I’d left, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Her eyes flew open, glazed and furious, locking onto mine in the mirror—accusation and hunger warring in her gaze.

”Y-you asshole—!” Her voice cracked, her knees nearly buckling as another drip of her arousal slid down her inner thigh. She bit her lip, hard, but the whimper still escaped, high and needy, her body trembling with the aftershocks of the slap.

I grinned, dark and knowing, my cock throbbing as I watched her struggle—her pride warring with the way her hips kept rolling, the way her pussy kept weeping for me. ”Yeah...” My voice was a low, rough growl, my hand itching to do it again. ”Yuko and Haruna will both be mine.”

Julie whirled on me, her eyes blazing, but the way her thighs quivered told me everything. She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with false indignation, but the tremor in her hands gave her away.

”Hmph... You are so bad.” She crossed her arms, her nipples pebbled beneath her blouse, her pout doing nothing to hide the way her breath hitched. ”Just had a mother and daughter, and now you’re eyeing two sisters? What’s next, Jack? The entire fucking city?”

I chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied, my gaze trailing down her body—lingering on the way her skirt clung to her ass, the way her fingers still rubbed at the stinging flesh.

”You say that like it’s a bad thing, baby.” My voice dropped to a murmur, my cock twitching as I imagined bending her over and fucking her right there in the washroom.

”But don’t worry...” I stepped closer, my lips brushing her ear, my hand sliding around to grip her thigh, my fingers inching toward the heat between her legs. ”You’ll always be my favorite.”

She shivered violently, her breath hitching, but she shoved me back, her voice sharp—though the flush spreading down her neck betrayed her. She changed the topic.

”We’re going to be late.” She turned on her heel, her hips swaying with deliberate exaggeration, like she knew exactly what it did to me. ”Court’s starting. Let’s go.”

I followed her out, my eyes locked on the way her ass moved—left, right, left, right—each step a tease, a promise of what I’d do to her the second we were alone again.

The way her skirt clung to the curve of her hips, the way her heels clicked against the floor—it was maddening. I wanted to yank her into a dark corner, hike that skirt up, and fuck her until she screamed my name.

But patience was a game I played well.

The courtroom was a circus of power and prestige, the air thick with tension and the scent of old wood, polished leather, and expensive perfume.

The high ceilings loomed overhead, the ornate chandeliers casting a golden glow over the sea of faces. Every seat was filled, everybody leaning forward, eager for the spectacle.

The judge’s bench was a monument of dark mahogany, his stern face framed by the country’s emblem carved into the wood behind him. The jury box was a row of tense, watchful eyes, their pens poised, their expressions unreadable. The prosecution’s table was stacked with files, the defense’s side a fortress of whispered strategies.

And then there was Elyas.

Chained in the trial box, his wrists cuffed, his ankles shackled, but his posture unbroken. His dark eyes scanned the room like a predator sizing up prey, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle feathering.

The chains clinked every time he shifted, the sound cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a blade.

The media was a swarm of vultures—cameras flashing like strobe lights, microphones thrust forward like spears, journalists scribbling furiously, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger.

This case wasn’t just news—it was a national obsession, a spectacle, and every word, every glance, every fucking breath was being recorded, dissected, sensationalized for the masses.

Julie and I slid into the last row, a two-seater bench pressed against the wall—isolated, private. The exit door was just beside us, and then a gap before the next cluster of seats where the rest of the spectators sat, oblivious. It gave us just enough privacy—a pocket of shadows in a room drowning in light.

The weight of the courtroom pressed down—judges in their robes, lawyers with their briefcases, spectators leaning forward, hungry for drama. The air was thick with tension, the scent of old wood and polished leather mixing with the electric hum of anticipation.

Julie shifted beside me, her thighs pressing together as she tried to ignore the ache I’d left between them. The fabric of her skirt brushed against the dampness still clinging to her skin, a constant reminder of how easily I’d unraveled her.

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her own biceps, but I didn’t miss the way her breath hitched when my thigh brushed against hers.

I leaned back, my arm draped along the back of the bench, my fingers brushing against her shoulder. The heat of her skin seeped through the thin fabric of her blouse, and I traced lazy circles with my thumb, watching as her nipples hardened beneath the material.

”You’re still wet, aren’t you?” My voice was a low, rough murmur, just for her. My fingers slid down, teasing the hem of her skirt, inching beneath to find the bare, sensitive skin of her thigh.