Kimberly Woods Stars In: A Dirty Task Needs DoingChapter 3 free porn video

Venice.

City of canals. Home to one of the most influential and wealthy merchants in human history, whose investment in the arts had created works that still lit the imagination of the world aflame. A city of beauty and history and...

“Jesus Christ, look at the titties on her,” I whispered as I leaned against the wall of a building that was part of the University of Venice. The building looked as if it had stepped from the ancient past, save for the few modern touches that accented the roof and the walls, but that really wasn’t important. What was important was the pair of female students walking by. In the sunny warmth of the day and the gentle green of the university gardens, they were dressed in flowing sundresses. One of them was definitely itallian, and had the body of a fine racing horse – lean and tall and elegant. But the other one was from China, and had a body as curvy as Marcy, but a spirit as exuberant and cheerful as Party God, which she showed off by wearing a dress that had roughly the same amount of fabric as El Thino.

Which meant she showed off huge...

Tracts of land.

“Kimmy!” Marcy hissed in my earbud.

“What?” I whispered. “This is Venice. They don’t have lots of land to share.”

“I ... what?” Marcy sounded like she had been flicked between the eyes by a rubber band.

“Oi, slutcakes!” Amanda’s voice cut into the com link. “We’ve got a helicopter inbound to the city. It’s private and according to my scanner, its posh AF.”

“Oh that has to be the representatives from the Juliane fortune,” Marcy said. “One of their daughters, Elisabet, is going to this college, she’ll be at the seminar.”

I rubbed one shoulder.

Okay. Why was I in Venice, enjoying the sights? More importantly, why was I dressed in a slinky black dress that clung to my curves deliciously – though I had a rather uncomfortable cup that forced my dick to stay non-bulge. So, to anyone, I just looked like a supermodel hot, athletic as sin chick who probably would be wild in the sack. That was both good – since, I mean, hot – but it was also kind of lame. I liked showing off my girldick. But showing off said girldick would have tipped my hand, just a bit, if any of the people heading to Dr. Nneka’s seminar on Complex Biosynthetic Redundancies in Polypeptide Molecular Physics happened to be more than what they seemed.

See, Dr. Chizoba Nneka was the best biochemist in the world. And when the world included super-genius futanari bent on global domination, being a regular old baseline and still being the best biochemist in the world was kind of a fucking feat. She was being flown at a great deal of expense to do a series of seminars on her field in various universities across Europe – something her home country of Ethiopia was touting at the top of their lungs. That meant that this seminar would be having not only the best and brightest of Venice (and the people who were enjoying Venice’s university) would be there, but the wealthy and famous of several other countries would be here too.

You invent a goo that regenerates fingers, and rich investors come out of the woodwork to show up and ask you out to the prom.

“All you need to do is approach her. You have the paperwork proving you’re part of Wesker Biochem,” Marcy said. “Offer Dr. Nneka the money, get her to the heliopad, and get her to study the sample. Easy. Peasy.”

I nodded.

The helicopter Amanda had spotted roared over head.

It was painted bright gold.

I grinned. “The competition has arrived,” I purred.

The seminar building had two guys with security badges by the front door and a line. I stepped into the line – not because I needed too, but because I wanted a chance to scope the place out. I saw a lot of students, a few professors – including one MILFy as sin woman who was totally rocking the horn-rimmed glasses thing – and a few of the other investors. Lots of white dudes with wrinkly faces, broad bellies and giggly girls who cost more than their mansions in surgery and dresses combined. I tried to pick out which girls had that desperate ‘oh god, I am way too good for this bullshit’ expression. Those were the fun ones to get into the sack...

“Kimmy!” Marcy said, her voice warning.

“What?” I whispered.

“You’re getting distracted,” she said.

I paused. “You put sensors in my cup, didn’t you?”

Marcy’s silence spoke volumes.

If there was a sound more chilling and yet fucking rad as the sound of footsteps in unison, I had yet to hear it. But the sound of three sets of feet clipping and clopping their way towards the line drew my eye. The first thing I noticed was Gorilla A and Gorilla 1 – named thus because both were one hundred percent equally identical in terms of their apotheosis. They had met and embodied the stereotype of ‘incredibly muscular dudes with buzz cuts who stand with vaguely menacing expressions behind the people with real power’ so fully that I was shocked that they didn’t radiate golden halos like saints. I noticed their concealed firearms, concealed brass knuckles, and the carbon weave plates in their suits. The sunglasses looked wired to neck-comps, the sexier and smaller version of Google Glasses (anyone else remember Google Glasses?) and they walked like actual pros.

Between them was a girl who was basically Ice Bitch of the Universe. She made Amanda look like a kitten.

And have you met Amanda?

Ice Queen’s hair was so pale blond that it was nearly white and hung down to the small of her back. Her eyes were ice cold blue and set in a face as pale as porcelain. She wore a suit that cost more than World War 2 battleship, and yet showed enough style and class that I had to study it for a bit to be sure of it. Her tie was pale red, drawing the eye to her flat chest and her pale throat. Her left ear had a single stud in it – tastefully small, and likely containing a gem more valuable than my parent’s house. She walked as if she knew that she owned the world, and casually breezed past the entire line and the two security guards, who simply bowed as she walked past. Her coat-tails swished and I swore that I could see frost between her thighs.

Then she was gone.

I blinked.

“Did you get that?” I whispered, glancing down. My left hand had a tiny ring on it, which held a small camera. My instincts had saved the day – I had tilted that hand to pan the camera across Ice Queen and her gorilla duo.

“Sure did,” Marcy said, cheerfully. “That’s Elisabet Juliane, heiress to the fifth largest fortune in the world and future CEO of Thoron-Mercer Polychem. She must have been out of town since she just arrived on that helicopter.”

I licked my lips. “Dibs.”

“What?” Marcy asked.

But then the line shifted forward and I was able to flash the security guards to get in.

Flash my badge, obviously.

“This is a damaged genome.” Dr. Nneka spoke in accented English that melted in my ears like dark chocolate. Her elegant fingers glinted in the harsh glare of the stage lights, but I couldn’t even spare a moment to glance away from her mahogany hand and wrist and arm to look at the diagram she was gesturing towards. Holy shit, why had no one mentioned Dr. Nneka wasn’t just the world’s best biochemist, but also gorgeous as sin as well. She let her hair grow out in a proud poofy mane like a Black Panther from the 70s, and her dress looked like it blended European and African styling in something bright and fashionable, and yet still dignified enough to wear to a seminar on biochemistry. Her wrists had golden bangles around them, which glittered almost as much as her skin. I just wanted to bury my face against her chest.

Now, I was not a tit-man. Because I wasn’t a man. I, being a wise and enlightened S-gene packing woman, knew that titties were amazing in all their shapes and forms. Slumped and matronly, perky and pixie like, marvelously medium, adorned with paint or nipple rings or chains or leather straps or Japanese rope bondage or just some whipped cream, it didn’t matter. All breasts were fucking glorious. But holy shit, I hadn’t even gotten to her ass.

Dr. Nneka turned as she walked along the big screen that dominated the rear of the stage.

“Um, Kimmy, I’m getting warning signals from your cup,” Marcy said.

“I told you we should have fitted her with a shock collar,” Amanda muttered in my other ear.

As a silent rebuke, I shifted my camera ring to show the two what I was seeing.

“Holy fuck,” Amanda whispered. “Kimmy. Kimmy, knock something off that desk, make her have to pick it up.”

I was already rummaging around for a rubber band in my belt pouch.

But before I could finish, Dr. Nneka picked up a bottle of water from her desk and started to sip from it, then launched into a detailed elaboration on what her research had led her to discovering. I slowly set the rubber band down on my palm, my fingers working into it. I flexed them, stretching the band out, then letting it tug my fingers together. Okay, well, her findings weren’t that shocking. Anyone could see that using tailored retroviruses too...

Oh.

I leaned forward, drinking in her words as she spoke, her voice becoming the most enchanting thing of all. I bit my lower lip, focusing on everything she said. It was so fascinating, I almost didn’t even notice the three hours pass. When it finished, Dr. Nneka gave her conclusion. “With such research, we can see new possibilities, not only in the realms of pharmaceutical breakthroughs, but also in the potentiality of true genetic regrowth. Thank you.”

Polite applause came from many, but those of us who had followed the seminar gave a standing ovation. And I was standing for two.

If you know what I mean.

... my dick was hard, that is. Enough to pound nails. The dean of the university then spoke in even more heavily accented English, saying that we’d be heading to another building for refreshments. I started out, walking quickly and with purpose. But as the thronging crowd of students, professors, investment people, the investment people’s giggle girls, and who knows what else was surging to their feet too, I didn’t manage to get near the good doctor. The room we came too was a large ballroom with beautiful artwork that filled every inch of available wall space, while glittering chandeliers hung overhead.

I traced the lines connecting chandeliers to rope and pulley systems. Just in case.

Dr. Nneka was in the center of a knot of people. I orbited carefully closer, my ears perked.

“Your research looks to be highly interesting,” a man was saying. “Why, we at Monsanto-”

“No,” Dr. Nneka said. “I prefer not to take blood money.”

A strained laugh came from the Monsanto rep – but I could see that Dr. Nneka had taken her rejection past the ‘brutally honest words’ and had gone right to turning to face a Chinese guy in a business suit, speaking to him in heavily accented Mandarin. The Monsanto goon looked like he had never had anyone tell him his shit stank in his life and wasn’t really appreciating the sudden change in his life’s fortunes. I smoothly stepped in to fill his place, casually bumping him backwards with a twitch of my hips. I flashed him a winning smile and he looked like he was trying to figure out if he was lucky or unlucky. Then I looked at Dr. Nneka, who had inclined her head politely to the Chinese guy. From the expression on his face, I was pretty sure she had shot him down.

“Dr. Nneka,” I said, cheerfully.

She turned to look at me. “Miss?”

“Woods,” I said, huskily, holding out my hand to her. She took it – her fingers felt silky smooth. I leaned forward and kissed her knuckles. “Kimberly Woods.”

Dr. Nneka was too dark skinned to flush. But she was definitely slower in taking her hand back than I think she expected. Her bright white teeth bit down on her lower lip as she looked at me. “And who do you represent, Woods, Kimberly Woods?” she asked. Her eyes glittered slightly and I grinned back at her.

“Well, if this was a dance, I’d just be here to ask you on one,” I said, grinning at her. “And honestly, the temptation to find a DJ and force him to start playing something with a lot of bass is pretty high. Especially after that seminar.”

“Ah.” Dr. Nneka’s charmed expression went down under shutters.

I grinned, then bunched my fingers, kissing them together. “The way you figured out to try the re-sequencing on the least heavily damaged gametes via retrograde centrifugal laser hydroscopy? That was inspired!”

Dr. Nneka’s brow furrowed. “I ... didn’t mention that.”

I chuckled. “It was pictured in one of the slides – in the background of the photograph of the test subject,” I said, grinning at her.

“I didn’t know you were a biochemist. Should I call you Dr. Woods?” Nneka asked, looking definitely more curious now.

I grinned. “I’d prefer Kimmy.”

She smiled back, slowly. “But only if you call me Chio.”

“My pleasure,” I purred.

“Kimmy, remember? The offer?” Marcy whispered. I chuckled, softly, then dipped my hand to the swell of my breasts. The motion drew Chio’s eyes and those wonderfully dark eyes widened as my finger pushed the hem of of my dress down just a bit, revealing that I was definitely not wearing a bra underneath the silk darkness. I fished out the small card for Wesker Biochem, then flicked it out to Chio with a casual twitch of my wrist.

“And if you want to talk about working together more intimately,” I purred. “My contact information is right there. Now, I have my own lab to get too – but it was a pleasure meeting you.” I inclined my head, turning and starting to roll my hips.

“Kimmy, she didn’t say yes!” Marcy hissed.

I snorted, then whispered. “Marcy. Baby.” I grinned. “Remember how that SPIDER bitch got me to knock her up?”

“She was female?” Amanda cut in.

I scowled. “No, she played hard to get, Amanda.”

Amanda’s scoff was intense and pointed.

When I returned to the edge of the ballroom, I found a glass of something fizzy and bubbly to sip, then fished out my smartphone. I tapped on the tracker app. It showed the map of the city, with a glowing dot representing the tiny card I had given Chio. Gah. Such a cute fucking name. It sounded almost Japanese, but I could see how you could shorten Chizoba to that. I bit my lower lip, wondering if she was as smart in bed as she was on a lecture circuit. Then my eyes flicked from my smartphone to Dr. Nneka.

She was chatting with another man. But she kept glancing at me – her look speculative. I smiled at her, my eyes glinting invitingly. But a tiny, crawly instinct made me look away. And then I saw it.

Ice Queen – Eliasbet – was watching ... not the good doctor.

But me.

I frowned and then waited for Elisabet to blink. Once she did so, I slipped to the side, hiding behind a set of silken drapes. Once there, I peered out and saw Elisabet start. She lifted her wrist to her mouth, whispering into it. As she whispered, Gorilla 1 and Gorilla A started into the crowd. A stayed within a few feet of Elisabet, but did loom and glare about himself, making it really obvious he was hunting for someone. 1 stomped to where I had stood. He started out the nearest door where I had left.

Meanwhile, I was slipping around the room. I used knots of people and bits of curtain to disguise myself as I got closer and closer to Elisabet’s side of the room. By the time I was near her, I could almost hear her annoyance and frustration. She snarled into her wrist com.

“Both of you, find her!”

Gorilla A looked like he’d rather do anything but. But he nodded, then turned and stomped off.

Once he was good and lost, I slipped up behind Elisabet. I slipped one hand along her belly, another along her wrist, thumb covering her wrist com’s microphone. My voice was a husky purr in her ear as I murmured. “And why exactly are you so interested in meeting me?” I grinned. “Is someone jealous, or did you get too wowed by my beauty to resist?”

The girl tensed, then hissed. “Let me go, dyke.”

I nibbled her neck gently. “Mmmrr, talk dirty to me, Miss.” I nibbled her ear. Elisabet’s cheeks had turned almost as red as her tie. She bit her lower lip, then gasped out as I licked the curve of her ear and purred. “For someone who throws around dyke like an insult, you seem to be enjoying this a lot.”

“I-I...” Elisabet squirmed, then turned and pushed away from me. Her cheeks were flushed and she glared at me. “I know who you’re working for!” She thrust her finger at me. “Wesker Biochem!” She tossed her head, her silvery hair flipping over one shoulder. “I told Daddy that I could handle this! He promised I’d get my shot!”

I smirked, affecting like I knew what the fuck she was talking about. She looked so cute when she was flustered. Total virgin, that was my guess.

“Listen, cutie,” I said.

“Don’t cutie me!” Elisabet snarled. “You may work for a shell company, and you’re probably a horrible freelancer!” She reached up, brushing her fingers through her hair, the haughtiness in her voice going from heiress to empress levels of contempt for the proles. “To think. You touched me. Me! Elisabet Bancroft Juliane!”

I grinned. “I’m shocked you’re not blushing blue...” I shook my head.

“I’m not blushing!” she hissed, her cheeks darkening further. I wondered if she blushed like most pale girls did: From the toes up. I cocked my head.

“But no, Miss Juliane, Wesker Biochem is not a shell company for your Daddy. I’m not a freelancer. And Dr. Nneka is mine,” I purred.

“If she is, then why is she leaving with him, dyke?” Elisabet sneered, jerking her chin over my shoulder. I turned, frowning as I did so.

“Balls!” I hissed.

For Chio was walking off, her arm draped around a broad shouldered mountain of a man. He looked Asian, but where, say, Alex looked like Bruce Lee but hotter, this guy looked like he could have ridden across the steppes with Ghengis Khan. Huge and burly and clearly able to bend iron in half with his bare hands. He walked with his hand on the small of Chio’s back, and she sprawled against him as if she was about fifteen seconds away from being spread like peanut butter. I clenched my fists, a spike of jealousy shooting through me.

Then her head lolled back and, for just a few moments, I could see her pupils. Dilated. Mouth opened. Panting.

She had been roofied!

The doors closed and I started forward – but before I could take a step, Gorilla 1 and Gorilla A materialized to either side of me and grabbed my wrists. They yanked me back and I squeaked as Elizabet growled.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Daddy didn’t send you. But thanks to you, he did send Mr. Big!” She shook her head. “Bitch.”

“Mr. Big...” Marcy whispered in my ear. “Kimmy. Kimmy. That’s not good! Oh god, they must not know!”

“What?” I hissed.

“Mr. Big’s my Daddy’s personal fetch dog, he’s been part of the family for years,” Elisabet said, tossing her head. Like a fucking race horse.

“Mr. Big ... that’s an alias for Big Time. One of Lady Chaos’ heavy hitters, second only to Hot herself!” Marcy hissed.

The banquet was dying down. I slowly stood up, not caring if straightening up made my shoulders wrench into uncomfortable positions. I grinned sweetly at Elisabet, my fingers curling slowly into fists.

“Please,” I said. “Tell Big Ook and the Manila Gorilla to let me go.”

“Or what?” Elisabet asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck this.”

I stomped my heel down hard on Gorilla 1. He grunted with shock, his fingers loosening. I twisted my hand and brought my elbow around, twisting myself almost entirely around to smash the elbow into the jaw of Gorilla A. He jerked back and I stepped free, bringing my leg up and smashing Gorilla 1 in the face with my foot. He sprawled into a table with a crash of flying cutlery and shattering glasses. The motion dislodged my cup and I sighed as I wriggled my hips, letting it clunk to the ground. I caught it on one foot, then kicked it into the door next to me, bouncing it off the knob and swinging the door open.

I smirked at Elisabet. “See you later, beautiful.”

And I sauntered past her.

And Elisabet watched me go, her mouth agape.

I walked out to the exterior of the building. Night was falling, but I could see Big Time muscling my Chio towards a boat. Hot, not dressed in her fuck-people up garb – was pointing at a collection of goons with assault rifles, who were checking and loading them. The goons were in fancy evening dress, but they had dragged Skii masks on over their faces, giving them a dangerous juxtaposition. Hot gestured them towards the building.

I tensed.

“Kill the investors,” Hot said, her voice carrying. “Take the eggheads alive.”

The men cocked their rifles in unison.

“Balls,” I hissed.

Elisabet picked exactly the wrong moment to come storming out. She was followed by her goons – one limped, the other clutched at his neck. My eyes widened. For one moment, Gorilla 1, Gorilla A and I all operated on the exact same wavelength. As the boat roared away, Big Time and Hot and Chio aboard, the goons lifted their rifles and advanced forward in a straight line. Gorilla 1 and A grabbed Elisabet and heaved her at me. I grabbed her and dragged her behind a thick stone planter that held some high bushes.

The goons opened up.

Gorilla 1 and A both fell, their bodies shredded by bullets.

Elisabet screamed, clapping her hands over her ears.

I grabbed my dress and tore. It ripped under my S-gene strength, revealing the black, skintight outfit underneath. I kicked my shoes free, then rolled the skintight outfit off my calves and around my feet. Once I was done, I pulled my concealed pistol from my back and cocked it.

The goons stormed forward. Five of them went for the door. Five went for the planter. I yanked some smart bombs from my pocket in a huge handfull and hurled them to the left. They clattered out and exploded in a crackling spray of fire. Smoke and bits of planter flew out, causing goons to jerk back with a cry. I grabbed Elisabet’s hand and yanked her up, running with her as I fired my pistol. We rushed to the planter across from us, the goons who had been advancing from the right too distracted by the explosions to aim. Bullets sparked off the stone wall we rushed past, shattered some glass...

But my bullets found much softer homes. Two goons sprawled, blood pouring from holes in their chests. Then Elisabet and I were down behind new cover. Elisabet gasped and gasped and gasped, clutching her hands to her chest.

“They’re trying to kill us!” she squealed.

Gunfire started to hammer from the building. Screams came with it.

“More than us.” I growled, then hissed. “Amanda!”

“On it!”

A drone shot from the heavens as the goons I had engaged regrouped. They swung around to face the small quad copter – but Amanda didn’t give them time. The underslung machine gun roared and the goons sprawled on the ground, knocked backwards and down. I sprang up, then grabbed a dropped assault rifle. I holstered my pistol and sprinted into the building. When I came back to the ballroom, I saw that - despite the gunfire – only a few people were down. Bodyguards sprawled, their chests painted with blood, while the goons were systemically grabbing onto professors and the more intelligent looking students. They hauled them towards the back.

Two goons were approaching the investors.

Two goons were dragging professors and students out back.

One goon was shouting orders.

I shot him first, snapping my assault rifle to my shoulder. It bucked and he went down in a spray of blood. As he sprawled, the goons who had been approaching investors swung around. They both fired and I dove behind a table, skidding along the floor as their bullets blew chunks out of the wall. As bullets hit the wall, a panicking investor jerked backwards and crashed into a small table I hadn’t noticed.

Turned out there had been planned dancing.

Because some sick eurobeats started to fill the room.

Under the thudding music, I popped up. The goons had taken cover – joined by the two others who had gone out back. They fired at me as I fired back. A bullet skidded along my shoulder and I fell backwards – grabbing a miraculously unshattered bottle of wine as I fell. I hit the ground and flung the bottle against the wall. In the confusion and noise of the moment, the shattering was missed ... but a dark red stain spread across the wall. I lay there, hoping that they’d think they got me.

Music thudded.

Glass crunched.

A man peeked over the edge of the table and I shot him in the head.

But then a pair of hands reached from above me and grabbed my gun. They wrenched it free and I kipped to my feet. The two surviving goons both aimed their guns at me. I kicked one’s gun out of his hands, then twisted to the side. His friend didn’t fire – their trigger discipline was good. Instead, he swung the rifle at my head. I jerked my head back, and he smashed the rifle butt into the wall. I lashed my palm out – striking the magazine lock. The magazine clicked and a second blow with my other hand sent it flying over the downed table. Then I had to twist aside to avoid a sleek, black painted knife from going through my ribs. I spun around to face knife goon.

He swept his blade at my throat. I leaped backwards, grabbed onto the barrel of the gun that the other goon still held. I yanked that barrel away from my head and the gun went off, the last round in the chamber shattering the knife and causing knife goon to jerk away in shock. I yanked the gun free from the surprised goon and swung it like a bat.

It smashed into knife goon’s head.

He went down.

Formerly gun goon kicked at my kidneys and caught me. He pitched me into a fancy fresco – my face mashing against the naked pubes of a painted goddess on the wall. Normally, pleasant. Right now, not quite what I wanted. I pushed backwards and he caught my legs on his. I sprawled on the ground. Formerly gun goon drew a knife and, thus, attained the vaunted position of knife goon two. He grinned, lifting his knife.

And then his face went slack.

And he sprawled to the ground.

Standing behind him, holding her own gun like a bat, was Elisabet, her eyes wide and furious.

“I liked Boris and Nikita,” she snarled. “They were getting married next week, you son of a bitch!”

I groaned and stood up, shaking my head. My finger went to Marcy. “Marcy, sitrep?”

“They got five of the students and two professors before you showed up. They...” Marcy paused. “They couldn’t have timed it better. While Amanda was rigging her drone, the goons strapped the students to balloon rigs. They shot up to a low altitude and a stealth jet scooped them up like candy.”

“What!?” I shouted.

“Risky, and I don’t think they wanted to risk Dr. Nneka the same way. She’s still traveling via ocean routes – but if she gets to their LZ...”

“On it,” I said, then turned to Elisabet, who was still kicking the downed goon, snarling viciously. “Oi! Lizzy!”

She swung to face me, her eyes red with tears. “What!?”

“Do you have a motorboat?”

Elisabet Bancroft Juliane snarled. “Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

Together, we sprinted from the room – leaving stunned party goers behind.

I slapped my smartphone into a small slot that was designed to hold it – like the dash of a car, the dash of Lizzy’s speedboat was designed to have an iPod plugged into it. I had the tracking app on and had put Marcy onto speaker phone. I was reloading the assault rifle I had stolen from one of the goons and Lizzy was starting the engine up, her face grim and determined. As the engine roared to life, Marcy spoke up.

“All right, the police and med staff have returned – the injured are being tended too,” she said. “Oh! Miss Juliane, your bodyguards are alive. But they are in critical condition.”

Lizzy blinked. “Oh.” She paused, then snarled. “Those fucking assholes still splattered blood all over my suit. This is Benudia original!”

“You do know critical wounding is also a valid cassus vendetta, right?” I asked as the propeller roared to life and the boat almost flew away from the University dock and into the open chop between the island containing the University and the rest of Venice. Other boats swarmed the water ways – the lights of the city glittering and bright, gleaming off the midnight black water, turning it into the worlds largest, most ripply mirror. As we roared forward, I looked from Venice to Lizzy. She was standing as she drove, her hands white knuckle on the wheel. My eyes dipped to her ass and I sighed, letting my cock get hard as a rock.

“S-Stop that!” she said.

“Stop what?” I asked, faux-innocent.

“Oggling me. Dyke.” Lizzy flushed.

“For a girl whose nickname is one letter away from a slang term for lesbian, you really need to get that steel rod removed from your rectum. Unless you’re way kinkier than I thought and are totally into that,” I said, grinning.

Lizzy bristled.