aFireFist
A Life in DC
Chapter 12 - Part 4
He looked at the clock on the wall.
10:07 p.m.
Time to go home, get a few hours of sleep, and get ready for the docks tomorrow night.
He shut down his computer, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, and stood. The bullpen was quiet enough that the hum of the old fluorescent lights felt loud. He pushed the chair in with his foot and turned toward the side exit.
That was when Montoya appeared at his elbow like she'd been waiting for the exact second the screen went dark.
Her hand closed around his wrist — warm, tight, no hesitation. Her palm was slightly damp. She didn't speak. She didn't look at him. She just pulled.
Vieri let her walk him down the short hallway to her office. Her thick thighs moved with purpose under the dark slacks. The firm, rounded ass in front of him rolled with every step. She pushed the door open, shoved him inside with a hand on his chest, closed it behind them, and locked it with a sharp, final click that sounded too loud in the small room.
Then she turned around.
Her golden-brown eyes were dark, almost black in the low light. Her full C-cup tits rose and fell fast under the white button-down; the fabric was already pulling tight across them with every breath. Without a single word she started unbuttoning.
One.
The top of her chest opened.
Two.
A line of smooth olive skin appeared.
Three.
The inner curves of her heavy tits showed.
Four.
The shirt fell open completely.
She shrugged it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. The plain black bra underneath was already losing the fight — the cups strained, the dark nipples clearly stiff against the thin material. She reached back with both hands, unhooked it, and pulled it forward. Her heavy tits spilled free — soft, full, perfect C-cups that bounced once and settled, dark nipples tight and begging. She tossed the bra onto the desk without looking.
Next came the slacks. She popped the button, dragged the zipper down, and shoved both the pants and her underwear down her thick thighs together. The fabric caught for a second on her solid hips and the full curve of her firm, rounded ass, then peeled free. She kicked everything off along with her shoes. She stood there completely naked except for the faint marks the bra straps had left on her shoulders, full tits heaving, thick thighs pressed together, the dark curls between her legs already shiny and slick with want. The smell of her arousal hit the air immediately — hot, musky, thick.
"I've been soaking since the meeting," she said, voice rough and low. "Every time I looked at you my cunt got wetter. Every single time. Sit on the desk."
Vieri sat on the edge of her desk. The wood creaked under his weight. Montoya stepped between his knees, grabbed his shoulders for balance, and climbed up. Her thick thighs spread wide around his hips. The heat of her bare cunt pressed against the hard bulge in his pants immediately. She grabbed one full, heavy tit with her right hand, lifted it, and fed the stiff dark nipple straight into his mouth.
"Suck it," she ordered, breath already shaky. "Hard. Don't be gentle."
He opened wide and took as much of her soft tit as he could fit. His mouth worked — tongue flicking the tight nipple, lips sealing, teeth grazing just enough to make her jolt. Montoya moaned low and filthy, the sound vibrating through her chest into his mouth. She shoved her other tit against his face, smearing soft, warm flesh across his cheek and nose, drowning him in the scent of her skin. Vieri's hands slid down the bare curve of her back and grabbed two big handfuls of her firm, rounded ass. He squeezed hard. His fingers sank deep into the hot meat, pulling her cheeks apart so he could feel the heat coming off her cunt. The flesh was heavy and soft and perfect in his palms. He lifted one hand and spanked her right cheek — sharp, loud, the crack echoing off the office walls. Her ass rippled under the blow. Montoya jerked forward and ground her dripping cunt harder against the thick bulge in his pants, leaving a wet spot on the fabric.
"Otra vez (Again)," she panted, voice already breaking. "Pégame el culo más fuerte (Spank my ass harder). Hazlo doler un poco (Make it hurt a little)."
He spanked the other cheek harder. The sound was louder this time — a full, meaty crack. Her thick ass jiggled and rippled. A bright red handprint started blooming on the olive skin. Juice from her cunt soaked through his pants in a warm, spreading patch. She kept grinding, smearing herself all over him while he sucked one tit and then the other, switching whenever she pulled the first free and shoved the second into his mouth. Her nipples were rock-hard against his tongue. Every time he flicked or sucked hard she made a broken little sound in her throat.
She finally pulled her tit from his mouth with a wet pop. A thin string of saliva connected her dark nipple to his bottom lip for a second before it broke. Her face was already flushed dark, lips parted, eyes glassy and unfocused. Her full tits rose and fell fast, shiny where his mouth had been.
"Edge of the desk," she said, voice hoarse. "I need your tongue in my cunt right now. I've been thinking about it since you walked into that meeting."
Vieri stayed sitting. Montoya turned around on shaky legs, backed up, and planted her thick thighs on either side of his head. The smell of her hit him even stronger — pure wet cunt, hot and thick and desperate. She reached back, grabbed two handfuls of his hair, and lowered her soaked pussy straight onto his mouth.
{R-18 Scene Vieri x Renee Montoya 5693 Full Word Count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n.}
Vieri stayed close behind her for another few seconds, one hand still resting on the hot, marked curve of her ass, catching his breath, before he finally pulled back completely. A thick, creamy mix of his cum and her juice immediately ran down Montoya's thick inner thighs in heavy drips and dripped onto the desk in slow, sticky strands. She stayed bent over, ass still high, tits flattened against the wood, breathing hard. Her firm, rounded ass was covered in layered red handprints that were already starting to darken. Her dark ponytail was a complete mess, half undone, strands stuck to the sweat on her neck and cheeks. When she finally pushed herself up on shaky arms, her face was completely wrecked — cheeks flushed dark, lips swollen, eyes glassy and half-lidded, a small, satisfied, almost shy smile she couldn't quite hide even though she tried.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The office smelled thickly of sex, sweat, and cum. The faint sounds of the bullpen outside — a phone ringing once, someone coughing, the hum of the old lights — felt a million miles away.
Montoya straightened up slowly, wincing as her spine cracked. Her thick thighs trembled hard enough that she had to brace one hand on the desk. Cum continued to leak down the insides of her legs in slow, sticky trails that reached past her knees. She looked down at the mess on her desk — the puddle of mixed cum and juice, the smeared handprints, the crumpled tissues already scattered — then at the bigger puddle on the floor between her feet, then at Vieri's still-half-hard cock shining with their fluids. A deep flush crawled up her neck and spread across her chest and the tops of her full tits.
"Shit," she muttered, voice hoarse and rough from moaning. She grabbed the box of tissues from the drawer with a slightly shaky hand and started wiping between her legs, hissing through her teeth at how sensitive and swollen she was. Every drag of the tissue made her thighs protest. "We… made a mess. A real fucking mess. Desk is ruined. Floor's ruined. I can still feel it running out of me."
Vieri found his pants on the floor, stepped into them, and pulled them up, tucking himself away carefully. He grabbed a few tissues and cleaned off as best he could — wiping the shine from his cock, his thighs, his stomach. The smell of her cunt stayed on his fingers. Montoya cleaned the desk next, cheeks still burning, tits swaying heavily as she leaned over and scrubbed at the wood with wadded tissues. She wiped the edge, the surface, even the side where her tits had dragged. When she bent lower to get the floor her firm ass — still red and marked — pointed straight at him for a few seconds before she straightened up again, breathing harder.
She found her underwear and slacks in the small pile of clothes. She stepped into the black panties first, pulling them up her thick thighs carefully, and hissed loudly when the crotch dragged over her sensitive, cum-smeared cunt and trapped the mess against her. "Fuck… that's going to keep leaking all night." She pulled the dark slacks up next, hopping once on each foot to get them over her hips and ass. The fabric hugged her thick thighs and firm, rounded cheeks tightly. She hooked her bra next, struggling for a second to get her heavy tits settled into the cups; they were still swollen and sensitive, dark nipples rubbing against the material. She finally got the clasps done and adjusted the straps. The white button-down went on last. She buttoned it wrong the first time — one side higher than the other — cursed quietly under her breath, undid every button, and redid them properly with slow, deliberate fingers. Her hands were still not quite steady.
When she finally looked at him again she couldn't quite meet his eyes. She looked at his collarbone, his shoulder, the wall behind his head.
"I don't usually…" she started, then stopped. She smoothed her ruined ponytail with both hands, pulling the elastic out completely, gathering the dark hair, and yanking it back into something tighter and neater. Still not looking at him. "I don't do this. At work. Or… like that. Not with people on the job. Not in my own office with the door locked and half the night shift still outside." Her voice was quieter now. Embarrassed. But her body told a different story — shoulders dropped loose, thick thighs no longer locked tight with tension, a deep, satisfied calm sitting under the flush on her skin and the slight tremble still left in her legs. "I just… needed it. After the meeting. After looking at you the whole fucking time and feeling how wet I was getting under the table. Every time you shifted in your chair I felt it. Every time you looked at me I got wetter. I couldn't sit there anymore."
Vieri nodded once, still leaning against the edge of the desk. "Yeah."
The silence stretched again, thicker this time. Montoya grabbed her shoes from under the desk, slipped them on one at a time, and finally forced herself to look at his face. Her golden-brown eyes were still a little glassy, still a little dark with leftover heat. The awkwardness sat heavy between them — the reality of what they'd just done in the middle of the precinct — but so did the lingering heat and the bone-deep satisfaction that made her limbs feel heavy and loose.
"This stays here," she said, voice low and firm even though a fresh flush crawled up her neck. "No one finds out. Not Sawyer. Not Ruiz. Not anyone. I don't care how good it was. I don't care if I still feel you leaking out of me when I sit down later. This stays between us."
"It stays here," Vieri agreed easily. "No one hears it from me."
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