The Babysitting Sorority Girl's Sundress

Robin Caldwell calls my sundress "unprofessional." Tells me to dress more modestly. Especially around her husband.

Then she walks out the door — full face of makeup, black wrap dress, three-inch heels — to spend the evening with her "good friend Laura."

Her husband Ted is in his home office. Working late. Alone. Again.

I'm twenty-one years old, five-ten in bare feet, and I look incredible in this dress. Every outfit I own? Ted paid for it. The sundress. The yoga pants. The lace underneath. He just doesn't know it yet.

His wife insults me and then leaves him alone in a room with a locked browser and a box of tissues while she goes to a wine bar with a man whose name she can't keep straight for thirty seconds.

So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to walk down that hallway, knock on his door, and show this neglected, hardworking, very handsome man exactly what his money has been buying.

And when Robin calls to check in?

I'll answer.

A Piper Bard Tale. No guilt. No regrets. No apologies. Just smut.