Seventy-Three

Isobelle

“Lynn?” I spluttered in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

My eyes bounced from her navy PVC cop costume, down to her black thigh-high boots and back up to her glossy black hat. Her boobs were almost tumbling out as she leaned down to talk to me.

“I was waiting for Denver to finish work, then I saw you speeding away like you’d committed a felony,” she responded, raking her eyes over my Femdom outfit. “You didn’t commit a crime, did you?” she asked, eyeing me dubiously. “It looks like you’re on the run.”

That all depended on the context. Did I leave four gorgeous sex gods high and dry? Then yes. I most certainly did. That should be considered a scandal. They should lock me up and force me to eat dick for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper until I learned to appreciate my fortunate living arrangement.

“I just needed to get out of the house for a bit. As for committing a misdeed, ask me that in a couple of hours. Your sons are enough to drive a saint to sin,” I explained.

L