She’s got on a black bustier that’s pushed up her boobs so high they practically touch her chin. Herred mini skirt that looks like leather from afar, but definitely not up close.
I slink over to her in my jeans and hoodie. I can already feel the heat of her disapproving glare.
“Wear this,” she says, pointing at an outfit that she’s obviously handpicked herself.
It’s a sheer red bralette that barely gives me any n****e coverage. Attached to it is a short black skirtin a filmy material that looks more like a tutu than an actual article of clothing.
“This?” I ask in disbelief.
“Isn’t that what I just f*****g said?” she barks. “And wipe that look off your face, Little MissSuperior. That kind of attitude is not gonna cut it down here.”
I know enough about Madam Roxy to kn
