Your wife devours the cop's body with her eyes, and you have the feeling that that isn't the only way she'd like to be eating the other woman up. “C'mon,” she says, “lighten up. Besides, can you blame him?”

“If you want some too-” the cop's voice turns harsh, her mouth widening noticeably.

“Don't spoil my night,” Elizabeth interrupts. “Please, officer. We're going out for,” she smiles, a just-between-us-vores kind of smile, and you hear the soft crack of her jaw dislocating, “dinner.”

That red dress of hers is only subtly in the vore style, but it doesn't seem understated at all when she slides her hand over her belly, letting her fingertips slip between the folds that'll open later, allowing her stomach to accommodate its meal.

It's only afterwards that you remember that that meal will be a person. Have been a person.

“Oh, yeah,” the officer breathes, licking her lips. “Yeah. Enjoy your meal, ma'am,” she says nodding firmly, her eyes gleaming merriment as she tosses your wife a wave of a salute in the direction of her forehead, clicks the gears on her bike, and jumps the still-red light to turn left, not right, onto Warlick.

Elizabeth watches as the cop cycles away, ass wriggling like two cats in a spandex sack as she stands on the pedals. “Tasty looking buns, that one has,” Liz says, “don't you think so?”

“She was cute,” you agree. “Scary for awhile there, but definitely cute too.”

“Obviously not scary enough,” Liz snaps her reply back. “You should not be looking. What if I hadn't been here?”

“You'd have been bailing me out of a jail cell tomorrow,” you shrug.

“I might've been fishing you out of her toilet tomorrow,” Liz replies, with the breezy ease of gallows humour. “Not that I wouldn't have had her licence and her life for it, of course,” she says. How nice to know your wife would avenge you, in the not-unlikely-enough-for-your-happiness event. Or maybe she'd just do it in this case because she'd thought the cop looked tasty.

“She thinks you're having me for dinner tonight, doesn't she,” you say sadly.

“I should certainly hope so,” your wife replies. “I wouldn't want her to come back and give us a ticket. You're the one who wanted to take Fred's car. You should've seen your face when she asked for your registration,” Elizabeth shakes her head, smiling. Then a faraway look catches her eyes. “I wonder if I could've gotten away with asking to see hers?” She muses.

“Liz!” You blurt. “She's a cop! You couldn't. You wouldn't.”

“Cops have to carry their paperwork, just like the rest of us,” Liz replies, fingers unconsciously brushing her clutch-purse, even as your own pat your jacket pocket for the reassuring thickness of your wallet. “And just think how many mundane lives I'd save, taking her off the board.” Liz pauses and grins wickedly. “Besides, I would've loved to see where she kept it in that uniform.”

All in all, you can only agree.

“Would... would you like me to go after her?” You offer as the light turns green.