His face dropped when he noticed who had called him. Vicky, the worst person he had ever met, the woman so vile that literal magic creatures had to intervene on his behalf to keep her in check.
"Hey twerp," she told him, stepping closer and rubbing his body. "Couldn't help but notice you've been hitting up Mickey-Rons a lot lately." She gripped his stomach harshly before staring daggers at him. "Where've you been getting the money, twerp?"
"Uh, internet?" His go-to excuse when he had to dodge a question.
She narrowed her eyes and sighed. "Tell ya what, Timmy." She said his name with so much disdain, as if it was unnatural for her to say it. "I won't tell the IRS about all the money you've pulled out of thin air, if you let me, play with all this." She groped him all over to emphasize her point.
"Yeah, right. Like they'd listen to you."
She pulled out a cellphone and began typing in a random number. After a few seconds, she got an answer. "Hi, this the IRS? Boy, do I have a tip for-." She was cut off by Timmy pulling her into a kiss, one as inexperienced as it was sloppy. She ended the call as yhe two made out.
Timmy ended the kiss, panting as his hair became messier. "Fine. I'll so it."
"Yeah. I knew you would," Vicky remarked, beginning to drag him back to her own home. There, she began to...
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