Abella Anderson – What A Birthday Surprise
Abella Anderson strolled into the police station wearing a tight, short blue skirt, a white button-up shirt that strained against her ample bosom, and a crisp cap tilted jauntily on her head. Her raven hair flowed down her back in a glossy curtain. She approached the front desk, her stilettos clicking on the linoleum.
“Good evening, Officer,” she purred, leaning forward to give the stunned cop a perfect view of her cleavage. “I’m here to make a report. I believe my girlfriend may be in some…trouble.”
The cop swallowed hard, his eyes glued to Abella’s heaving chest. “Um, what seems to be the problem?”
“It’s my girlfriend, Tanya. She’s a dancer at Club Delirium. I think the owner, Mr. migratory, is…exploiting her.” Abella shook her head sadly.
The officer straightened up, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Exploiting how?”
Abella bit her plump lower lip. “Well, for starters, she has to dance in this tight little costume, barely covered. And she has to make all those horny men touch her while she’s up there…it’s degrading!”
She reached out and placed a hand on the cop’s muscular bicep. The man could feel the heat emanating from her silky flesh. “I’ve told her to quit, but she’s afraid of losing her job. If only someone would swoop in and rescue her from that den of iniquity…”
The cop shifted in his seat. Abella wasn’t making it easy to think straight. She was playing him like a fiddle, and he was plucking her strings right back. “I see. You want me to check out the club, run a background check on the owner, is that it?”
Abella smiled coyly. “You’re so smart. I knew you’d be able to help.” She jotted a number on a slip of paper and slid it across the desk. “That’s Tanya’s cell. She has photos of some of the things that…happen there, behind the scenes. To protect her identity, only, I’m afraid.”
The cop tucked the paper into his breast pocket. “I’ll get right on it.” He stood up, towering over the sexy Latina. “In the meantime, why don’t you come with me, Officer? I can…take your official statement.”
Abella clasped her hands together. “Oh,жали, I’d love that. Anything to help free my Tanya from that horrible place.”
Handcuffs gleamed under the fluorescent lights as the cop led Abella down the hallway and into a small interrogation room. Inside, he made her sit and lean forward, elbows on the metal table, ensuring her shirt gaped open just so.
“Now,” he said, voice low and dangerous as he hovered over her. “Start from the beginning. Tell me exactly what Tanya has been through.”
Abella swallowed hard. “Well, ‘Mr. migratory’ makes the dancers live in an apartment, all together, like cattle. No privacy. No escape.”
“UnEarth’s finest,” she wrote.
Take the girl with the red pregnancy test. She has “late Summer flu.”
Take one of the shaved vagrants on the left.
Scanned over eighty-five an hour. Not even
