The next day, I walked into the jury deliberation room with a pounding heart. Sleep had been impossible. Instead, I kept replaying what had happened in the courtroom—his fingers, the thrill, the risk. It was reckless, outrageous, and the hottest thing I’d ever done.

That night, thinking about what happened, I’d made myself cum again using my fingers.

And now here we were again. He was already there when I arrived, sitting at the far end of the table. His suit was impeccable, his hair slightly messy. Juror 4. The only man to ever make my cum in a room full of my peers.

I didn’t meet his eyes as I took my seat beside him, pretending to focus on my notebook. The other jurors trickled in slowly, bringing coffee and pastries, their chatter filling the air. I sipped at my drink, hoping the warmth would give me focus beyond the ache between my legs.

After a few more pleasantries exchanged between the group, the deliberation began, the room settling into its usual rhythm of debates and discussions. I tried to pay attention, I really did, but then I felt it—his knee nudging against mine. Subtle at first, nothing more than an accident.

I shifted in my seat, pretending to adjust my posture, but he didn’t move away. If anything, his knee pressed harder, locking me in place. And then, fingers, his hand reaching beneath the table and touching my thigh. He wasn’t looking at me, his expression calm and focused on the conversation, but the deliberate stroke of his fingers was anything but casual.

I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. His hand drifted lower, grazing the fabric of my skirt. My thighs clenched as he played idly along the edge of the fabric, teasing, testing, edging closer and closer.

I glanced around the table. No one seemed to notice. The debate was growing more heated, the jurors too preoccupied with their arguments to pay any attention to us. His fingers pressed a little harder, sliding higher, and I bit down on my lip to stifle a gasp.

He was so close. Too close. My entire body was on edge, aching for him to touch me exactly where I needed it. I shifted in my seat, just enough to encourage him, and he rewarded me with the slightest brush of his fingertips against my panties.

I clenched the edge of the table with both hands, my knuckles white. My panties were already damp, and the teasing stroke of his fingers sent a jolt of electricity straight through me. He didn’t move further, didn’t press harder—just kept his touch feather-light, driving me insane. I opened my legs wider, struggled to resist the urge to buck my hips, to press the mound of my pussy up into him.

My hand trembled as I picked up my pen, desperate for some distraction. I opened my notebook, flipping to a blank page. But the only thing I could think about was him, his fingers tracing lazy circles against my panties, keeping me teetering on the edge without giving me the release I craved.

But not here, not in front of everyone. Not again.

But my breath was coming faster, betraying the effect he was having on me. I tried to keep my composure, to think of anything other than ripping off my clothes in front of everyone here, pulling my panties to the side, and riding his cock.

“Are you okay?”

The voice snapped me out of my haze. I looked up sharply to see the retiree on the far side of the table staring at me, her brow furrowed. “You’re looking a little flushed, honey. Do you need a break?”

All eyes turned to me. My heart raced as I tried to muster a convincing response, but Juror 4’s fingers didn’t stop. If anything, they grew bolder, pressing against me with just enough pressure to send a fresh wave of heat coursing through my body. My thighs clenched, and I gripped the edge of the table harder, my nails digging into the wood.

“I’m fine,” I managed, though my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Just—uh—just a little warm. It’s nothing.”

Mom of Three chimed in, her tone concerned. “Are you sure? You look like you’re out of breath.”

“I said I’m fine,” I blurted, too quickly, too defensively. A murmur rippled through the group as they exchanged glances, but I avoided their eyes, focusing instead on the notebook in front of me.

Meanwhile, his fingers continued their torment. He was relentless, keeping his touch light enough that no one could possibly see, but insistent enough that I couldn’t ignore it. My panties were soaked, my entire body thrumming with frustration and embarrassment. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying every second of it.

The group settled back into their debate, but I could feel their occasional glances. Juror 4’s fingers slipped under the edge of my panties, brushing against my bare skin. I bit down on my lip hard to keep from gasping, my thighs trembling as he found my clit, stroking it with the barest hint of pressure.

My hand moved instinctively to my notebook, desperate for some outlet, some way to channel the overwhelming need to fuck coursing through me. I stared at the page, the pen trembling in my fingers. Without thinking, my vision blurring with horniness, I wrote four words on the page and showed it to him.

I need to fuck.