What's next?

A sweet landing

The plastic bin rocked forward, then back.

It rocked forward again, and tipped over, landing on its side in the alleyway. Out of its mouth spilled a torrent of whipped cream, melted chocolate and strawberry jam. Along with one very annoyed NYPD detective.

Amy wriggled her way out of the tub. Slowly, she climbed to her feet. Anger flared in her dark eyes, and a scowl was etched on her pretty face. Someone was going to pay for this.

Her hair, matted with cream, clung to her cheeks. Her shirt was no longer crisp. There was jam in her ears and melted chocolate trickling down her thighs. She was smeared with dessert from head to toe.

She looked up.

At the remains of her white panties, flying like a flag from a hook high above her head. She wasn't getting them back. Not while she still had the cuffs on.

Which meant she was now wearing a pink shirt, a bra, her shoes and absolutely nothing else. Between her hips and her ankles, there was nothing to conceal her modesty but a layer of whipped cream.

Amy bit her lip.

She tried to concentrate on the anger. Of all the emotions she could be feeling right now, anger was the easiest to handle. Just because Rosa had anticipated her every move, stolen her clothes, tricked her into jumping into a vat full of dessert and left her stranded in an alleyway, miles from safety, without some key features of her wardrobe, didn't mean she had to give up.

It didn't mean she was a bad detective, either. Or a gullible loser. Or the world's biggest dork. She was going to find her way out of this. And she was going to get ****.

She looked down at herself. Her black pubic hair, neatly trimmed into a cute triangle, was flecked with chocolate. She could move her hands to cover her pert naked ass, but there was no way to hide her pussy and walk at the same time.

First, pants. Then ****.