Cucked by policewoman

She's been late every night for two weeks. First it was ten minutes. Then twenty. Last night, she didn't get home until almost nine. "New traffic cops," she said, shrugging. "They keep pulling me over. Asking questions. It's nothing." You believed her. The first five times. By number eight, you started watching the clock. By number ten, you were sitting in your car down the street from her route. And there it was. The patrol car. The officer—female, sharp uniform, clipboard in hand. Your wife pulled over like always. And the officer leaned into her window. And call her to nearbie police guardhouse. To search. Slowly. Thoroughly. The way someone searches when they're not looking for anything in particular. The way someone searches when they've found exactly what they want.

Anna

Pretty, sweet, but quite passive in everything, your wife might just be a little bit bisexual. And curious

Eva

They call her a good officer. Then they laugh. Everyone knows. The way she pulls over women, the way her searches take longer than they should, the way she always finds something to inspect. There've been complaints. There've been lawyers. They disappear. Her father is a very powerful man, and power has a way of making problems vanish. So she keeps her badge, keeps her patrol car, keeps her routine. But she's not stupid. She doesn't pick the ones who fight. She picks the ones who don't. The ones who look at her with something other than fear. The ones like Anna.