Across town at the local police precinct, Chief Mitch Holloway lounged in his Italian leather chair while an ebony dream in a skimpy skirt and cropped uniform polished his badge. Which wasn't an innuendo. But he was getting his dick sucked by a saucy Latina with an ass so fat you could bounce quarters off it. And large stones. Falling satellites even. Truth told, damn near anything could hit this girl's ass and it'd wobble for twenty seconds straight, like one of those cutesy jiggly cat jellos that go viral on TikTok all the time.

"Attagirl." The Chief grabbed a plush chunk of cheek with his hairy mitt. "You really know how to Back the Blue, don't you Mamacita?"

"Mmm." With her pouty plum lips sealed tight around his fat cop cock, she purred and pushed forward, taking him deeper.

"¡Híjole!" The Chief crooned.

That's when the rookie entered the room. Greenhorn Greg.

"Chief!" The door burst open. "You gotta see this!" The Greenhorn held up a manilla folder.

"¡Ay Ca-fuckin-rumba!"

The Greenhorn froze in the doorway, his arm still extended.

Chief Holloway slumped back with a groan as the caliente cabrona squatting between his thighs released his spit-soaked cock with a wet, vulgar pop.

The samba seductress batted her false eyelashes. "Should I go, Jefe Holloway?" A thin strand of saliva hung between her lower lip and the head of his rod, sagging in a U-shape.

"Eh?" The Chief grunted, slowly recovering from the blowjob-induced fugue state. For a moment there, he forgot his age. His rank. His name. He'll, he even forgot he didn't know a lick of Spanish. Some girls give good head, while others turn a man bilingual. This chica was the latter.

"I don't want to get in the way of important police business, Jefe." She pouted in a luscious Columbian accent that would put Sofia Vergara to shame. She looked a little like her too.

"Nonsense, Camila," the Chief huffed, wrapping his meaty fingers around her head. "You may be a volunteer, but you Officer Relief Girls are integral to this department, just as important as Greg here."

"Um," Greg said, still standing with his arm raised.

Camila giggled and parted her eager lips, letting the chief skewer her boquita bonita again.

"And the same goes for you, Tameka," the Chief declared. "My boys would be all nerves and jitters without that dump truck ass of yours."

Tameka blew the Chief a kiss. "Anytime, sugar." She resumed polishing the badge. Truth told, she'd been polishing it for twenty minutes.

"Ain't that right Greg?"

"Huh?" Greg blinked.

With one hand, the Chief gestured. "These selfless angels are a gift from God himself, critical to the efficiency and well-being of our force." The other seized a clump of Camila's hazelnut locks and pulled her tight, burying her nose in the pungent musk of his unkempt coils. "Never forget it."

"Yeah," the Greenhorn muttered. "Totally integral..."

Greg tried to pay attention, he really did, but Camila wasn't the only girl in the room with an ass that wouldn't quit, even if you fired it. Tameka had a formidable backside of her own and Greg, despite his best efforts, found himself paying it the proper respect.

The raven-haired beauty noticed the Greenhorn's wandering eye and—still polishing the badge—leaned against the chief's desk, offering a breathtaking view of the rolling black hills. Greg found himself wishing he could get lost in that wild country for hours, days even, like a hiker who goes off alone into a national park and has to be airlifted out by a Mountain Rescue Team, strapped to a dangling basket stretcher, delirious but strangely content.

"Greg!"

The Greenhorn snapped back to reality. "Huh?" A glob of drool hung at the corner of his thin lip.

"Remember what I told you." The Chief jabbed a finger. "Don't get distracted."

"Um, right." The Greenhorn nodded, wiping his mouth. "Sorry, Chief."

"Six months rookie. That's when a member of this department has earned the right to use an Officer Relief Girl. Until then, don't even think about it."

"I know, Chief."

Tameka dragged her tongue across her crimson lips and lifted her barely-there skirt—offering Greg a comprehensive view of everything was missing out on.

"I know," the Greenhorn whimpered.

Meanwhile, indecent gurgles and stifled gags emanated from Camila's cock-crammed throat, her chest rolling and quaking in fits and starts. She reached up and politely tapped the Chief's thigh.

But the Chief didn't notice. Or didn't care. He went on. "You gotta earn your stripes, rookie. Same as everyone else. A man who's easily distracted by a fat set of cans, voluptuous come-hither hips, a tight little snatch, an-

"Ass-shake earthquake," Tameka offered while holding Greg's gaze.

"Or an ass-shake earthquake. Thank you, Tameka."

"Anytime, sugar." She launched into a twerk, her plump, obsidian assmeat cresting and crashing like water in a wave pool.

Greg made the Sign of the Cross and offered up a silent prayer for God's deliverance.

"Such a man isn't fit to wear the badge!" The Chief boomed. "A poor sap like that wouldn't survive one day in the streets!"

"Um." Somehow, Greg tore his eyes away from Tameka's hypnotizing bun ballet long enough to notice the spasms wracking Camila's whole body. "Chief, I think-"

"That's a dangerous word, rookie." The Chief harrumphed. "As your superior, it's my job to do the thinking. You know what your job is?"

"Um..."

Camila's eyes fluttered in a disjointed dance. Her frantic hand slapped the chief's knee in mounting desperation.

"...to listen?"

"That's right, rookie."

"Yes sir, it's just-"

Camila's slaps weakened, her drooping fingers glancing the knee. Her eyes twitched and rolled back, pupils receding behind the drooping lids.

"Absolute situational awareness, rookie. That's what it takes to be an officer. To uphold the law. To maintain the peace. Never forget our most solemn oath-"

Tameka stopped twerking. "Chief, I think Cam's givin' up the ghost."

"Huh?" The Chief looked down between his legs. "Ah, don't worry about her." He pulled the limp woman off his cock. "She does this all the time."

Held up by a clump of her hair, Camila dangled in the Chief's grip, clinging to the edge of consciousness.

He double tapped her flush, ruined cheeks. "Come on now. Up and at 'em."

Her unfocused eyes drifted.

The Chief huffed and gave her a short, sharp slap.

• SMACK -

Greg and Tameka shared a glance.

Recognition sparked in Camila's half-lid, cock-drunk eyes. "Hola,"she mumbled with a crooked, lopsided grin.

"Hola." The Chief smirked. "Is my Cosita Rica all cocked out?"

Her head lolled.

"Hm?" He raised his hand, ready to strike again.

She giggled and snapped her head up, locking eyes with him. "No."

"Right answer." The Chief slammed her head down, impaling her bratty little mouth.

Tameka bit her lip. "Damn..."

"Ay, Curamba," Greg muttered under breath.

"Anyway, rookie." While the Chief spoke, Camila gagged, shuddered, and slumped again. "What's the news?"