The commissioner’s office door clicks shut. Locked. Rare luxury in this shithole precinct. Air purifier hums softly, pumping that fake spring scent. Mixes with stale coffee from his mug. Printer whirs in the corner, spitting victim photos. Twenty-fifth now. Fingers and toes hacked off. My desk back there’s a mess of pins and Polaroids. But here? Pristine. Like him.
He sighs, slumps in his chair. Eyes me up. ‘Judith…’ That name again. Only he says it. Makes my skin prickle. I light a cig, exhale slow. Ash drops on his floor. He doesn’t care. Not tonight. Tension’s thick. We’ve danced this before. Months ago, driver fucked me quick in his car. Now him? Hierarchy screams no. But apocalypse rules? Fuck ’em.
The Building Tension
Open-space chatter fades outside. Colleagues shuffle files. Mouse clicks echo faintly. My heart pounds. He stands, rounds desk. Close. Too close. Breath hot on my neck. ‘You need this,’ he mutters. Hand grazes my hip. Uniform skirt hikes easy. I nod. Don’t speak. Glance at door. Any knock? Game over. Thrill spikes my pussy wet.
His fingers dig in. Pulls me back against him. Hard cock presses through pants. ‘Been watching you slap that girl. Turns me on.’ Dirty cop whisper. I grind back. Coffee scent clings to his shirt. Perfume fights the rot outside. Printer spits another sheet. We freeze. Nothing. Door rattles—someone passes. Adrenaline floods. My nipples ache under blouse.
He spins me. Desk edge bites my ass. Files scatter. Victim pics flutter. I don’t care. Mouth crashes mine. Tongue rough. Tastes coffee, mint from the other side. Hands yank blouse open. Buttons ping. Bra shoved up. Sucks tit hard. I gasp. ‘Quiet,’ he growls. Fingers rip panties aside. Two plunge in. Soaking. ‘Fuck, you’re dripping for danger.’
I claw his belt. Zipper rasps loud. Cock springs free. Thick, veined. Other side luxuries keep him pristine. No rad-black lungs yet. I stroke. He groans. ‘Bend over.’ I do. Skirt bunches waist. Ass out. Door’s right there. Footsteps outside. Click-clack heels? Bethy’s guard? Doesn’t matter. He slams in. Raw. No rubber. Fills me balls-deep.
The Explosive Release
Thrusts brutal. Desk shakes. Mug tips—coffee spills. Scent amps up. Sloppy wet slaps echo. ‘Take it, slut cop,’ he grunts. I bite lip. Moan muffled. ‘Harder. Fuck me like the killer.’ Fantasy spikes. His hand fists my hair. Yanks head back. Other smacks ass. Red sting. Pussy clenches. Printer jams—whine cuts air. We laugh breathy. Insane.
He rails faster. Balls slap clit. I’m close. ‘Gonna cum in you.’ Yes. Risky creampie in wasteland. Office slut. Tension peaks. I shatter. Walls pulse. Milk him. He roars low. Floods hot. Drips down thighs. Pulls out. Slap of meat on wood.
Pants heavy. I straighten slow. Skirt smooths down. Cum leaks— I clench hold it. Blouse buttons crooked. Fix hair. Wipe desk quick. Victim pics back in pile. Coffee mopped with sleeve. He zips up. Face stone. ‘Meeting in five. Act normal.’
I nod. Unlock door. Click. Step out. Colleagues glance. None wiser. Heart still races. Luxure hidden under pro mask. Cig lit. Drag deep. Back to hunt. Killer waits. But this? My real high.