Caitlyn leaned back in her armchair, her violet eyes gleaming with that predatory amusement she usually reserved for cracking particularly stubborn cases. She crossed her legs slowly, the motion drawing attention to the sleek lines of her tailored pants, and smirked at Vi. "Done already, Vi? I thought you had more stamina than that."
Vi chuckled, low and rough, as she 'dusted herself off'—a theatrical brush of her hands over her thighs where Jinx had just been sprawled. Jinx was still perched on the edge of the couch, rubbing her ass with a mix of pout and lingering heat, her cheeks flushed from the spanking. Vi winked, her pink undercut catching the dim light. "Yeah, I think she's had enough from me. For now." She flexed her fingers, the mechanical gauntlet on one arm whirring faintly, as if echoing the promise of more later.
Jinx, still catching her breath, crouched down to snatch up her scattered clothes from the rug—her bra dangling from her fingers like a defeated flag. Before she could grab her shirt, Caitlyn rose gracefully and crossed the room in a few purposeful strides. With a swift, playful slap, she knocked the bra right out of Jinx's hand. It fluttered to the floor like a discarded secret.
"Ow! Hey!" Jinx yelped, more startled than hurt, her electric blue braids swinging as she straightened up, eyes wide and indignant.
"Uh-uh-uh," Caitlyn tutted, wagging a manicured finger in that infuriatingly aristocratic way. "Tsk, tsk, Jinx. Your punishment isn't over just yet."
Jinx's eyes widened further, a flicker of genuine surprise cutting through her usual manic energy. She whipped her head toward Vi, seeking backup. "But—but—" Her voice pitched up, half-protest, half-plea. "Vi?"
Vi shrugged her broad shoulders, leaning back on the couch with that easy, butch confidence, her tank top stretched tight over her muscles. A smirk played on her lips, but her eyes held a reassuring warmth. "Sorry, trouble. Rules are rules."
"VI!" Jinx wailed, her hands balling into fists at her sides, though the way her thighs pressed together betrayed the lingering arousal from the spanking.
Caitlyn's smile turned sharper, more deliberate, as she stepped closer, towering over Jinx in that elegant, commanding way. "Oh, don't look so betrayed, darling. This is for your own good." She reached into a nearby drawer—because of course her apartment had hidden compartments for such things—and pulled out a skimpy micro-bikini, the fabric so minimal it was basically a suggestion. Electric pink strings and tiny triangles that would barely cover anything. Alongside it came a sleek black collar with a matching leash, the kind that screamed kink without apology.
Jinx stared at the items, her mouth opening and closing like a glitchy hologram. "You... you can't be serious. What is this, some kinda Piltover fashion police torture?"
Caitlyn dangled the bikini from one finger. "You're going to wear this. And then you're going to let me lead you on this leash through the red light district. Like the naughty little prisoner you are." Her voice dropped, laced with erotic promise. "Consider it community service for your cheating at the range."
Jinx's face went from pink to crimson, her girlcock twitching involuntarily under her shorts at the sheer humiliation of it. She wanted to protest—god, did she—but the words tangled in her throat. "But... out there? In public? With... that?" She gestured wildly at the bikini, her skinny frame already imagining the exposure.
Vi pushed off the couch, clapping a hand on Jinx's shoulder—firm, grounding. "Girl, it's all good." She motioned to Caitlyn with a nod, her grin widening. "We have the cops on our side already. No one's gonna mess with you except us."
Jinx turned her blank stare to Caitlyn, who waved gently, almost innocently, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cops don't make me safer!" Jinx blurted, but even as she said it, a thrill shot through her—a mix of fear and forbidden excitement that made her core ache.
On every continent, in every country, any large city inevitably creates a certain district. A place with buildings tall enough to casually block the sun, as if the city itself was saying: don't look here. These areas were never unexpected, and often came with significant economic growth for the city—vice paying the bills in shadowed alleys and neon-lit doorways, where the fog of illicit deals hung thick like cigarette smoke in a dimly lit bar.
However..