FoA S3 Chapter 1

The short, dingy carpet is scratchy and itchy under your bare feet.

You have been in some bad situations before, but this is a new low.

The nervous teenager behind the shabby motel’s front desk stares at you and Vicky. This motel is almost two miles from the spot where the Dark Dames robbed you. You’re both naked and drenched with sweat from the journey.

Vicky stands right at the counter, her hands on her hips, chest pushed out. It’s working: the teenager is transfixed by her. You’re nearby, arms folded with no way to cover your privates and look like a badass at the same time.

You don’t feel like a badass. You and Vicky smell like a locker room after that walk in the sweltering swamp.

“Um,” the guy says, licking his lips. “I’ll find you something. Here.” He hands Vicky a key.

“Thank God,” Vicky says, guiding you out of the horrible little lobby. You hurry down the row of doors to the room and let yourselves in. Vicky cranks the AC, then races you to the shower and crowds in with you under the cool water. It’s the least erotic shower you have ever taken with a busty, well-endowed blonde that you happen to like.

This is a stroke of good fortune: that the teenager was willing to fall for Vicky’s act and front you some goodwill.

“I will suck that kid so dry,” Vicky says, her expression of gratitude as she rinses the sweat off almost orgasmic.

You secretly feel the same way. If he can give you something to wear next and let you use his phone, you have absolutely no qualms about helping Vicky give him the time of his life. You don’t usually go for guys, but this is a special circumstance.

The shower is refreshing at first, but you’re cooling down. You and Vicky climb out and start to dry with the motel’s towels. You didn’t talk much during the walk due to how miserable it was, but at least no school busses full of kids drove by while you were naked on that lonely, forgotten road.

“We’re really fucked, aren’t we?” you ask as you towel your hair.

Vicky just shakes her head with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her.

“For what?”

“If I’d been…” What? More on guard? Brought a gun? “I don’t know. I wasn’t much help. I’m sorry.” Ingrid’s face flashes into your mind. If you hadn’t fucked a Dark Dame and let your guard down. That’s the real answer, but you can’t say that. Vicky will literally kill you.

You leave the bathroom, intending to sit on the bed to rest your sore feet, but someone is here.

She’s as tall as Vicky, not as busty, and a brunette. Her hair is in a messy bun, but there’s nothing messy about her beige police uniform. Or the gun in her holster or her shiny badge.

Your heart sinks. “Vicky?” you say, staring at her. Normally, you would tell Vicky to run, but the bathroom has no window. All she can do is come out; there’s no way that teenager didn’t tell this cop that there are two of you.

Vicky emerges, her eye twitching at the sight of the cop.

You unconsciously used your towel to cover up, but Vicky keeps drying off.

“Deputy,” she says.

This woman isn’t very old, but she looks like she means business. She’s just as off-putting as Stark, but you aren’t sure why. She doesn’t have Stark’s smugness or arrogance. There’s just something pinched and unpleasant about the way she looks at you both.

“Face the wall. Spread ‘em,” she orders.