Our heroine, having dodged the dog so far by shedding her uniform and its incriminating scent, believes she's out of the woods. Sadly there's no such luck as the undergarments she's chosen still bear a whiff of fabric softener, which Comandante Woofers is very well acquainted. Bad luck for her, but that's the spy game!
I promise this is the last page before the underwear goes, after which we'll get a little bit of that N from ENF. I know there are underwear fans out there, and I wanted to give them one good look at the skivvies before they're shed in the name of the cold war.
Legmuscle
2025-04-02 17:17:36 +0000 UTCLegmuscle
2025-04-02 17:15:31 +0000 UTCstanleybatman9
2025-03-31 19:11:45 +0000 UTCVictoria Black
2025-03-31 14:09:30 +0000 UTC