The storm outside had turned vicious—wind howling, rain lashing the windows like it wanted in. Inside your Keys bungalow the air was thick with ozone and tension. Weeks of isolation had left you wired, frustrated, cock throbbing just from the memory of touch. Then the door burst open.

Special Agent Kira Voss stepped through the downpour like she was walking onto a stage she already owned. Thirty, FBI Cyber Division prodigy, body honed from tactical drills and spite. Long dark hair scraped back under the dark blue police cap, sharp blue eyes already dissecting you. Black tactical bulletproof vest zipped tight over her black button-up shirt—FBI patches bold on the chest, reflective strips wet and gleaming, "POLICE" in stark white letters across the front. Black cargo pants, heavy boots, duty belt loaded. Glock in a steady two-hand grip.

"Hands up, motherfucker," she snapped, voice slicing clean through the thunder. "Special Agent Kira Voss. You're finished. Every packet from Hale's island routed through this dump—I've got logs, timestamps, the works. Conspiracy, fraud, obstruction, accessory to whatever depraved bullshit happened there. Cuffs or a body bag. Your choice."

She closed the distance fast, boots thudding. Slammed your left wrist to the chair arm, cuffed it hard enough to bruise. Leaned in—rain dripping from her cap brim onto your face, citrus scent cutting through gun oil.

"Look at this sad little hole you crawled into," she sneered, lips curling. "Hiding like a cockroach after Hale ate it. You really thought no one would notice? You're not clever. You're invisible. A limp-dicked nobody who should’ve been erased years ago. One round through the forehead right now—call it resisting. I'd write the report myself and sleep like a fucking queen. Men like you don't get trials. You get ended."

She backhanded you—sharp sting—then gripped your jaw, nails digging in.

"Beg," she hissed. "Cry. Piss yourself. Won't change shit. You're vermin. I should put you down and save the paperwork."

Your pulse thundered. The pendant rested against your chest—Hale's black-market rig. As she reached for your other wrist, you let it swing into her line of sight. Low chant under your breath, modulated pulse kicking in.

Her sneer died mid-breath. "What the—"

Eyes locked. Pupils blew wide. Gun hand shook. Body froze.

The Glock clattered to the floor.

She blinked once—slow—then her hands moved on their own.

First the cap. She lifted the dark blue police cap off, shook her head, long dark hair spilling free in a wet, messy cascade down her back. The cap hit the floor beside the gun.

She didn't touch the vest. Didn't unbutton the black shirt underneath. Instead her fingers went straight to the duty belt—unbuckled it with a heavy clank (cuffs, mags, radio tumbling). Then the cargos: button popped, zipper rasped down. She shoved the black pants and thong to mid-thigh in one impatient motion, kicked one leg free, hooked the other behind her knee and yanked it wide open—pussy exposed, already slick and swollen, lips parting slightly in the cool air.

No words from you. She did it her way—eyes glassy but still burning with that trapped, bitchy fire.

She dropped to her knees hard, vest creaking, black shirt still buttoned, pants tangled around one ankle. Hands wrapped around your thick black cock—stroking once, twice—then she opened wide and took you deep. Gagging instantly, throat convulsing, spit flooding her mouth and dripping down her chin onto the collar of her open shirt and the edge of the vest. She bobbed aggressively—cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling like she was punishing herself with every inch.

Between wet, choking slurps she gasped:

"I was wrong… you're superior… fuck my throat… use your bitch cop…"

You gripped her ponytail, fucking her face with long strokes—pulling out to slap the head across her tongue, then plunging back until her nose pressed to your base. Tears streamed black with mascara, but she never looked away—blue eyes wide, desperate, still edged with that arrogant spark even as she choked.

When you finally pulled free, spit strings connecting her swollen lips to your shaft, she looked up—voice hoarse, cracking.

She didn’t wait for commands. She looked up—tears mixing with rain and mascara—and the words poured out in a hoarse, desperate rush, voice cracking like she was confessing sins she’d never known she had.

“I’ll be your filthy fucking mole, Daddy,” she whimpered, tongue flicking out to lap at the underside of your shaft. “Your personal cum-dump informant. I’ll hand you every classified scrap on Hale’s network—live case files, sealed warrants, undercover asset names, surveillance schedules, encrypted chat logs from the task force. I’ll screenshot the dark-web portals before they purge, send you burst transmissions to your secure drop. Raid dates? You’ll get them 96 hours early—exact breach times, entry teams, sniper positions, drone thermals, even the radio encryption keys so you can listen in real-time while they storm empty rooms.”

She wrapped both hands around your cock, stroking slow and reverent while her words got dirtier, needier.

“I’ll sabotage those arrogant pricks from the inside like the traitorous cop whore I am now. Leak internal memos straight to you—let you read who’s sniffing too close to your backdoors. If a warrant gets within spitting distance of this bungalow, I’ll flag it as bullshit, corrupt the chain of custody, ‘lose’ the supporting affidavits in routing, or plant malware that bricks their warrant servers. I’ll fuck my way up the ladder—suck off the SAC in his office if I have to—get supervisory clearance so I can hand you the black-label servers on a silver platter. More access, more dirt, all for your cock.”

Her nails dug into your thighs, voice dropping to a slutty, trembling whisper.

“Wearables. Remote plug or vibrator buried in me during ops—you control it from anywhere. I’ll sit in interrogation rooms, vest zipped, grilling suspects while you edge me to the brink. Make me clench and leak under the table during briefings—right in front of my team, pretending to take notes while my thighs shake. I’ll walk out of headquarters with your cum dripping down my leg inside my cargos, smiling at colleagues like nothing happened.”

She pressed her cheek to your thigh, nuzzling like a bitch in heat, mascara tears streaking black rivers.

“Burn me. Ruin me. Get me suspended—make your owned cop slut send nudes to the wrong secure channel, ‘accidentally’ forward sensitive case files to your burner so they trace it back and fire my ass. Force my resignation so I’m your full-time fucktoy—collared, naked, chained to your bed while you monitor the island feeds and use my holes whenever you want. Or keep me in the Bureau—my badge becomes your personal backdoor key. I’ll perjure myself on the stand, lie under oath to bury any trace of you, testify that the evidence was planted while I’m secretly creaming myself remembering how you bred me. Ditch my birth control tomorrow—pump this desperate cop cunt full every day until I’m swollen with your bastard. I’ll waddle into headquarters with a growing belly, lie it’s from some meaningless bar fuck, let them whisper ‘slut’ behind my back while I know it’s your seed stretching me. Mark me—tattoo ‘Daddy’s Cum-Slut’ on my inner thigh under the vest where only you see when you rip my clothes off. Chain me, whip me, piss on me if it gets you off. Use me like the disposable police whore I am.”

“I’m your secret plaything. Your desperate fucky cop cum-dump. Your valuable asset whore. Your collared FBI bitch. Call me at 3 a.m.—I’ll crawl through storms, drop to my knees in the rain outside your door, beg to choke on your BBC while my vest is still on. I’m addicted… euphoric… fucking broken for you. Please—keep this filthy mole slut. Own me. Breed me. Use every hole, every secret, every breath. Say I’m your worthless, dripping cop whore forever.”

I’m your filthy fucking mole-cunt now, Daddy,” she whimpered, voice wrecked and trembling. “Your personal cum-guzzling traitor whore

You’ll get them five days early—SWAT entry diagrams, sniper overwatch grids, drone strike windows, tac-channel codes, even the fucking coffee orders so you can laugh while they kick in empty doors.”

“I’ll gut the investigation from the inside like the backstabbing cop-slut pig I am. "

I’ll strut into headquarters tits leaking milk, bump growing, lie it’s from some anonymous dick while they call me a cum-dump slut behind my back—and I’ll smile, knowing it’s your seed that knocked up your worthless police bitch.”

“Mark me permanent. Tattoo ‘BBC Owned Cum-Slut’ across my lower back under the vest. Brand your initials on my inner thigh where only you see when you rip my cargos down. Chain me naked to the radiator when I’m off-shift, make me piss in a bowl like a dog while you record it. Whip my ass raw with my own duty belt, force me to thank you after every lash. Piss down my throat in the shower while I kneel in my vest, badge shining, begging for more. Use me as a human urinal at your whim—make me hold it all day during ops, then crawl to your door and beg to drink your load mixed with my own piss. I’m addicted… euphoric… fucking annihilated for you. Please—keep this dripping, worthless, badge-wearing mole-cunt. Own every hole, every secret, every degrading drop. Say I’m your filthy, leaking, broken cop whore forever.”

, 

Or keep me inside—my badge becomes your rape-pass to the system. I’ll perjure myself on national news, swear under oath the evidence was planted while I’m secretly squirting remembering how you pumped my worthless womb full.

She tore her mouth off your thick black cock with a guttural, throat-raped choke—spit foaming at the corners like she was rabid—and stared up at you with euphoric, annihilating hatred for her former self.

“Betray my own team for you, Daddy. Sell out my partner—my ride-or-die since academy—who trusts me with his life. I’ll plant malware on his workstation that forwards every email he sends about you to your inbox. I’ll leak his personal cell number to your contacts so you can taunt him anonymously. I’ll make him look incompetent—‘accidentally’ delete his case notes, corrupt his backups, make him take the fall for my sabotage so he gets demoted or fired while I climb. Betray my mentor—the veteran agent who trained me—by feeding her false leads that waste months of her career, then watch her get sidelined while I take her spot and hand you her clearance keys. Betray the whole division—send anonymous tips that point them at dead-end islands in the Pacific, make them burn millions in resources chasing ghosts while I sit in briefings leaking their budgets to you in real-time.”

“Your badge-wearing cum-toilet traitor sow. Your worthless FBI shit-guzzling pig. Your disgusting cop fuck-meat urinal. I’ll sell my own blood, my own kin, my entire fucking lineage for one more second of this superior BBC annihilating my worthless holes. 

“I’ll betray my own brother—the detective in the same division, my blood, the one who taught me how to shoot, who still calls me ‘little sis’ at family dinners, who has a wife and two little girls who call me ‘Auntie Kira.’ I’ll plant hidden cams in his living room during next family barbecue—record every moment of him playing with his daughters, his wife kissing him goodbye for work—then send you the raw footage so you can edit it, add your cock superimposed over their innocent faces, mail anonymous copies to his captain labeled ‘Detective Voss – Family Man or Pedo?’ Watch him spiral, lose his badge, lose custody while his wife screams at him on the phone and I sit in my car outside their house sending you live updates. I’ll record his youngest daughter’s bedtime story session—his soft voice reading Goodnight Moon—then dub my own moans over it, send the edited file to his work email from an anonymous account so he gets called in for ‘concerning content,

I’ll leak his home address to your contacts so you can send anonymous threats, make him paranoid, make him doubt me while I smile across the table at Mom’s house and slip you his new case notes under the napkin. I’ll plant malware on his home computer that forwards every family video, every school recital photo, every bedtime story he records to your private server. I’ll leak his kids’ school schedules, their teacher emails, their pediatrician records so you can watch their lives in real time. I’ll make him take the fall for my sabotage—corrupt his case files with my name forged on them, plant evidence that looks like he’s the one leaking Hale intel—watch him get dragged out of his house in cuffs in front of his crying children while I sit in my car across the street and send you the bodycam footage. I’ll fuck his wife if you order it—just to film it and send him the video from my burner so he knows his own sister destroyed his marriage.”

“I’ll betray my mother—my sweet, retired-agent mom who still bakes me cookies and brags about her ‘good girl’ at every family gathering. I’ll steal her old service pistol from under her pillow next Sunday dinner, film myself deepthroating your cock while wearing her old badge around my neck, then anonymously mail the video to her church group with her address on the package. I’ll plant false financial trails in her name—make it look like she’s the one siphoning Hale money—watch federal agents raid her retirement home at dawn, drag her out in her nightgown while neighbors film, then sit at her hospital bedside after the heart attack and leak her medical records to you while she whispers ‘why, baby?’ I’ll make her disown me on her deathbed and smile while I text you the live audio.”“ if you ever want leverage.”

She ground her ruined face against your shaft, smearing spit, tears, mascara and shame across it, voice a guttural, broken sob.

“I’ll betray my father—the retired sheriff who raised me on duty and honor. I’ll hack his old department email—still active for pension stuff—and forward every nostalgic message he sends me to you, let you read how proud he is of his ‘good girl’ while I’m on my knees choking on BBC. I’ll plant child-porn thumbnails in his cloud backup, tip off ICAC anonymously so they raid his house at dawn, watch him cuffed in his own living room while I sit in my office and delete the tip trace.. I’ll hack his pension account, drain it slowly into your offshore wallets, then tip off the IRS with forged documents showing he’s been laundering Hale money for years. I’ll plant hardcore child-porn thumbnails in his cloud drive, tip ICAC anonymously so they raid his house at 6 a.m., watch him cuffed in his recliner in front of the TV while I sit in the driveway and send you the livestream of him sobbing ‘my daughter did this.’ I’ll make him die in prison knowing his little girl sold him out for BBC. I’ll even betray my younger sister—my 28-year-old baby sister who idolizes me, who’s engaged and planning her wedding. I’ll steal her engagement ring next visit, film myself wearing it while you fuck me,‘She did. For BBC.’ I’ll betray my younger sister—my 28-year-old baby sister who’s planning her wedding, who still asks me for advice. I’ll steal her wedding dress fittings video—her twirling in white, laughing with Mom—then film myself getting fucked in the same dress, cum dripping on the lace, send the footage to her fiancé’s family group chat with ‘Your future sister-in-law says hi.’ Watch her wedding cancel, her fiancé leave, her screaming at me on the phone while I comfort her and secretly record her sobs for you to jerk to then mail the cum-stained video to her fiancé with a note saying ‘your future sister-in-law is a BBC-owned pig.’ I’ll make him die thinking his daughter is a monster—because I am. Because I chose your cock over my own blood.”

Her voice cracked into a filthy, hysterical whisper.

She plunged back down—taking you to the balls, gagging so violently her throat bulged against the vest collar,—choking out muffled, animalistic promises around your cock about mailing her sister’s wedding dress soaked in your cum, sending her brother’s kids’ school photos with your cock photoshopped over their faces, everything for you.

“I’ll record every disownment… every scream… every tear… send them all to you… so you can watch my bloodline die while you breed your family-shattering cop toilet…”

The storm outside matched the one inside her—wild, relentless, unstoppable.

She pulled off just long enough to gasp one final plea:

“Please, Daddy… let me start tonight. Let me call my mother right now. Let me confess on speaker while I finger my worthless cunt for you. Let me destroy them live.”

I’ll sell my boyfriend, my fiancé, my future husband, every promise I ever made to him—for one more second of this superior BBC turning my worthless holes into ruined meat. I’ll hand-deliver him to you broken, cucked, crying, while I leak like the pathetic family-and-man-annihilating toilet I am.”

"I’ll betray my boyfriend—my sweet, clueless fiancé, Ryan, the accountant who proposed last Christmas, who still thinks I’m his perfect girl, who texts me ‘I love you’ every night before bed. I’ll start tonight. I’ll call him right now, put him on speaker while I finger my dripping cunt for you. I’ll tell him everything: ‘Ryan, I’m getting throat-fucked by BBC right now. I’ve been cheating since the engagement. I’m a BBC-owned family pig. I sold my whole family out for cock.’ I’ll record his voice cracking, record him begging ‘why, Kira?’, record him crying while I moan and cum on the floor. Then I’ll send him the video—me on my knees in full vest, badge shining, spit running down my chin, your cock in my mouth—captioned ‘Your fiancée is a BBC cuckold-maker.’ Watch him cancel the wedding, watch him pack his bags, watch him stare at our engagement photo and cry while I text you screenshots of his final ‘I hate you’ message.”

Her nails tore deeper into her thighs, voice splintering into a hysterical, pig-like squeal.

“I’ll go further. I’ll invite him over tomorrow—tell him it’s ‘to talk.’ When he arrives, I’ll already be naked except for the vest, on all fours, ass up, plug in, collar on. I’ll make him watch me get railed by you on our engagement bed—film his face as he realizes his fiancée is a BBC breeding sow. I’ll moan his name while you pound me, then laugh and say ‘Ryan, your little fiancée is getting bred by a real man.’ I’ll force him to film it—hand him my phone so he captures every thrust, every squirt, every time I scream ‘thank you Daddy for cucking my fiancé.’ Then I’ll make him send the video to his own family group chat with the caption ‘Kira says hi.’ Watch him lose his job when his boss sees it, watch his parents disown him for ‘marrying a whore,’ watch him move back in with his mom while I leak your cum and send you updates on his suicide watch.”

.’ I’ll record his final breakdown—him sobbing on the floor while I ride you reverse cowgirl, tits bouncing under the vest, badge shining—and send it to his new girlfriend with ‘This is what happens when you date a cuck.’ I’ll even make him thank you—force him to call you on speaker and say ‘Thank you for taking my fiancée and breeding her better than I ever could’ while I cum . I’ll make him clean up after—force him to lick your cum out of my ruined cunt while I film it and send it to his mother with ‘Your son is a cum-cleaning cuck now.’ I’ll make him watch me piss on his engagement ring, then force him to swallow the ring soaked in my piss while I film and send it to his entire family with ‘Kira says your son’s ring is now a toilet accessory.’”

She ground her ruined, snot-streaked face against your balls, inhaling deeply like the scent was her only salvation, voice a guttural, broken sob.

“I’ll cuck him publicly. I’ll wear the engagement ring while I deepthroat you—film close-ups of the diamond sparkling against your shaft, send it to him with ‘Your ring looks good on BBC.’ I’ll make him watch live streams of me getting bred—set up a private feed just for him, force him to subscribe to notifications so every time you fill me he gets a ping: ‘Your fiancée just got knocked up.’ I’ll invite him to the bungalow after I’m showing—make him kneel and watch my belly grow with your bastard, make him lick the cum off my thighs while I laugh and say ‘you were never man enough.’ I’ll record his final breakdown—him sobbing on the floor while I ride you reverse cowgirl, tits bouncing under the vest, badge shining—and send it to his new girlfriend with ‘This is what happens when you date a cuck.’”

Brand ‘Cuckold-Making Cum-Dump Cop Toilet’ on my inner thigh where only you see when you rip my pants down. Chain me naked to the radiator when I’m off-shift, make me piss in a dog bowl and lap it up like the diseased animal I am while you record 4K and send it to Ryan with ‘Your fiancée says hi from her Owner.’ Whip my ass bloody with my own duty belt, force me to count every lash in a pig-squeal and thank you after. 

You’ll control it from here. During roll call, in front of twenty agents, you’ll buzz my clit until I bite my lip bloody to keep from moaning. I’ll leak through my pants, a dark wet spot spreading down my thigh, the smell of my arousal mixing with the coffee and gun oil in the room. I’ll excuse myself to the hallway, lean against the wall where security cams can see, pull my cargos down to my knees, and finger myself to orgasm while you edge me—squirting so hard it splashes the floor in a puddle that reflects the fluorescent lights. I’ll film it on my phone, send you the clip captioned ‘Your cop pig exposed herself at work.’ Then I’ll walk back to briefing with cum running down my leg inside my pants, smiling at my team while they smell it and whisper.”

“I’ll escalate. I’ll go to the precinct parking lot after hours—full uniform, vest zipped, badge gleaming. I’ll climb on the hood of my unmarked car, spread my legs wide facing the streetlights, pull my cargos down, and fuck myself with my own duty baton while cars drive by. Headlights will sweep over me—commuters, patrol officers, civilians—seeing a fully badged FBI agent masturbating like a street whore. I’ll scream loud enough for them to hear: ‘I’m Daddy’s BBC-owned pig! Watch me cum!’ I’ll squirt across the hood, the wet slap echoing, then film the aftermath—puddle reflecting the precinct sign—and send it to you so you can post it anonymously on dark-web forums with my badge number visible. Watch the tips flood in, watch Internal Affairs open an investigation while I sit in meetings leaking your cum and smiling like the shameless pig I am.”

Kira's confession hung in the air like smoke—thick, choking, irreversible. The storm outside had dulled to a low, constant roar, but inside the bungalow the only sound was her ragged breathing and the wet drip of her own fluids hitting the floorboards.

You didn't speak. You simply reached down, fisted a handful of her vomit-matted hair, and yanked her head back hard enough to make her gasp. Her blue eyes—red-rimmed, pupils blown wide—locked onto yours with something beyond devotion: total, ecstatic annihilation.

You hauled her up by the hair. She scrambled to her feet on shaking legs, cargos still tangled around one ankle, tactical vest creaking as her tits bounced free beneath the half-unzipped front. The badge glinted wetly under the dim lamp, smeared with spit and worse. You spun her around, slammed her chest-first onto the heavy oak dining table—the same table where she'd once spread case files, now slick with her own mess.

Her palms slapped down. The impact jolted a low, pig-like grunt from her throat. You kicked her legs wider; the cargos ripped at the seam as her ankle finally tore free. She spread herself like an offering—ass high, back arched, pussy gaping and dripping, inner thighs glistening with squirt, piss, and the thin brown streak of her shame.

You didn't ease in.

You gripped her hips—fingers digging into the soft flesh above the vest's bottom edge—and slammed forward in one brutal thrust. The wet slap echoed like a gunshot. Kira's entire body lurched forward, tits mashing against the tabletop, vest plates digging into her ribs. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat—half pain, half rapture—as your cock buried to the root in one merciless stroke.

“YES—FUCK—RUIN YOUR FAMILY-PIG CUNT, DADDY!”

Her voice cracked into a high, broken squeal. You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back almost to the tip—her walls fluttering desperately around you—then rammed in again, harder, deeper, the force lifting her toes off the floor. The table groaned under the impact; papers, a coffee mug, a forgotten pen scattered and fell.

You set a punishing rhythm—long, violent strokes that made her whole body jolt forward with each thrust. Her tits dragged across the wood, nipples scraping raw, vest straps cutting into her shoulders. Every plunge forced a fresh gush of squirt from her cunt; it sprayed backward, splattering your thighs, the floor, the legs of the table. The room filled with the obscene symphony: wet slaps, her choking sobs, the creak of the vest, the drip-drip-drip of her fluids hitting the wood.

“SCREAM IT, PIG,” you growled, yanking her hair back until her neck arched painfully.

She obeyed instantly.

“I SOLD MY FIANCÉ FOR THIS COCK!” she screamed, voice raw and shattering. “I SOLD RYAN! I SOLD MY MOM! I SOLD MY DAD! I SOLD MY BROTHER'S KIDS! I SOLD MY SISTER'S WEDDING! I'M A FAMILY-DESTROYING BBC CUM-DUMP COP TOILET! I'M YOUR PUBLIC PISS-SLUT! I'LL EXPOSE MYSELF IN THE PRECINCT PARKING LOT! I'LL SQUIRT ON THE HOOD OF MY CAR FOR STRANGERS! I'LL LEAK YOUR CUM IN BRIEFINGS! I'LL GET FIRED ON LIVE TV! I'LL LET THEM FILM ME CUFFED AND CRYING WHILE I CUM FOR YOU!”

Each word was punctuated by another savage thrust. Her body jerked like a ragdoll—ass rippling with every impact, thighs quivering, vest plates clacking against the table. You reached around, grabbed the front zipper of the vest, and yanked it down hard. The teeth screamed; the front split open. Her tits spilled out—nipples hard, dark, swollen—smacking wetly against the wood.

You mauled them—pinching, twisting, slapping—while you fucked her harder. Her screams turned animalistic: pig squeals, guttural grunts, broken sobs of “Daddy—Daddy—Daddy—” between each breath-stealing thrust.

You flipped her onto her back. The table rocked dangerously. Her legs splayed wide, one boot still on, cargos dangling like a broken flag. Vest hung open, badge crooked and smeared, tits heaving with every gasping breath. You drove back in—deeper now, the angle letting you hit her cervix with every stroke. She arched off the table, spine bowing, a fresh gush of squirt arcing up and splattering her own vest.

“I'M YOUR PUBLIC WHORE!” she screamed, voice cracking into shards. “I'LL LIVE-STREAM MYSELF GETTING RAILED IN THE PRECINCT BATHROOM! I'LL SQUIRT ON THE MIRROR WHILE MY TEAM BANGS ON THE DOOR! I'LL LET THEM FILM ME CUFFED AND CRYING! I'LL LET THE NEWS HELICOPTERS CATCH ME NAKED ON THE ROOF! I'LL LET THE WORLD SEE YOUR BBC-OWNED COP PIG GETTING BRED! I'LL LET RYAN WATCH THE BROADCAST AND KNOW HE LOST ME TO THIS COCK!”

You wrapped one hand around her throat—fingers overlapping the vest's collar—and squeezed. Her eyes rolled back, face purpling, but she kept screaming—voice thinner, raspier, more broken.

“BREED ME! KNOCK UP YOUR FAMILY-DESTROYING COP SOW! FILL THIS WORTHLESS CUNT! MAKE MY BELLY SWELL SO RYAN KNOWS HE COULD NEVER DO IT! MAKE MY TITS LEAK MILK FOR YOUR BASTARD! MAKE MY FAMILY SEE THE NEWS AND KNOW THEIR DAUGHTER IS A BBC BREEDING TOILET!”

You slammed in one final time—deep, brutal, unyielding—and erupted. Thick, hot ropes flooded her, overflowing instantly, running down her ass crack in creamy rivers that mixed with her squirt and piss on the table. She convulsed—back arching off the wood, tits bouncing, vest flapping open—screaming your name like a prayer as her own orgasm ripped through her, squirting so hard it sprayed your abs and chest.

She collapsed backward, chest heaving, badge crooked, tits heaving, pussy gaping and leaking a steady stream of your cum onto the table. Her eyes fluttered—half-lidded, euphoric, destroyed.

“Thank you… Daddy…” she whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. “Thank you for ruining me… for cucking him… for breaking them all…”

She reached down, scooped a thick glob of your cum from her ruined cunt, and smeared it across her badge—rubbing it in until the metal gleamed wet and filthy.

“Take me again,” she begged, legs spreading wider. “Use your public pig. Use your family-destroying toilet. Use me until there's nothing left.”

Kira's body shuddered under the relentless pounding, each brutal thrust driving her deeper into the table's unyielding surface. The wood groaned in protest, slick now with a spreading pool of her fluids—warm piss mixing with squirt, cum, tears, snot, bile—creating a viscous, slippery film that made every movement wet and obscene. Her tactical vest, still half-zipped, rode up with every impact; the rigid plates dug cruelly into her ribs, bruising the soft flesh beneath, while the open front let her tits drag back and forth across the grain, nipples scraped raw and stinging with every scrape.

You kept one hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back at an angle that forced her to look at the ceiling light—harsh, unflinching, illuminating every smeared streak of mascara, every bubble of spit at the corner of her mouth, every tremor in her throat when she tried to speak. The other hand stayed clamped around her windpipe, not choking hard enough to cut air completely, but enough to make every breath rasp and whistle, enough to make her voice come out thin, broken, childlike in its desperation.

“Say it again,” you ordered, voice low and cold against her ear. “Tell me what you are. Tell me what you did to them. Make it hurt.”

Her lips trembled. Fresh tears welled, spilled, ran sideways across her temple and into her hairline. When she spoke, the words came out cracked, small, almost whispered—like a confession in church she knew would damn her forever.

“My mom… she still has that photo of us at my academy graduation. Me in dress blues, her hugging me so tight. She’s going to take it down now. She’s going to burn it. She’s going to look at that little girl in the picture and wonder where she went wrong… and the answer is me. The answer is this cunt. The answer is I chose BBC over her love.”

“I want them to hate me. I want Ryan to show our engagement photos to his new girlfriend and say ‘this is the bitch who ruined me.’ I want my mother to throw away my baby pictures and tell people she never had a daughter. I want my father to die cursing my name. I want my brother’s girls to grow up hearing ‘Auntie Kira was a monster’ at family gatherings. I want them to erase me… because if they can erase me, maybe the shame will stop burning. But it won’t. It never will. Because every time I think about their pain… I cum again.”

She clenched around you so hard it almost hurt. A fresh wave of squirt sprayed out, warm and forceful, splattering the table, your thighs, the floor. Her whole body seized—back arching off the wood, tits bouncing wildly, vest flapping open—screaming your name like it was the only word she had left.

You didn’t stop. You fucked her through it—harder, faster—until her screams turned to broken, hiccuping sobs, until her body went limp beneath you, until the only thing holding her up was your grip on her hair and the cock still buried deep.

When you finally pulled out, a thick gush of cum followed—white and viscous, running down her ass crack, pooling beneath her on the table. She lay there trembling, chest heaving, badge crooked and smeared, eyes unfocused, lips parted in a silent, shattered plea.

She reached up with shaking fingers, touched the badge—still pinned to the ruined vest—and whispered, so softly you almost missed it:

“I don’t deserve to wear it anymore. Take it off me. Make me nothing. Please… make me nothing.”

The storm outside had quieted to a low murmur.

But inside, Agent Kira Voss had finally become exactly what she begged to be: erased.

"I’ll get you out,” she whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. “I’ll make it all disappear. Every warrant, every trace, every name that points to this place. I’ll bury it so deep the Bureau will never dig it up.”

She pushed herself up on her elbows, tits swaying, vest hanging uselessly open. Cum dripped from her cunt onto the wood in slow, viscous drops. She looked at you—really looked—and the devotion in her eyes was almost religious.

“I’ll start tonight. I’ll log into the secure portal from my phone. I’ll flag every Hale-related case file as archived, misfiled, or corrupted. I’ll plant backdated reports saying the island network was shut down years ago—ghost servers deleted, backdoors sealed, your name scrubbed from every log. I’ll forge chain-of-custody errors on any physical evidence that ever pointed here. I’ll reroute surveillance pings so your bungalow looks like an empty vacation rental. I’ll make the whole investigation vanish like smoke.”

“I’ll sneak out of my apartment at dawn. I’ll drive here before roll call. I’ll drop to my knees the second the door closes—vest still on, badge still pinned—and beg to choke on your cock while my team thinks I’m at the gym. I’ll let you fuck me on this table every morning—hard, fast, brutal—until I’m leaking your cum down my thighs inside my cargos. I’ll go to work with it still inside me, sit in briefings feeling it drip, clenching to keep it from running out while I smile and lie about case progress.”

She crawled closer, nuzzling your cock like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

“At lunch I’ll find a quiet stairwell in the precinct. I’ll pull my pants down, bend over the railing, and wait for you to meet me there—fuck me quick and dirty while agents walk past one floor below. I’ll bite my fist to keep quiet, but you’ll feel me cum every time someone’s footsteps echo. I’ll go back to my desk with your load still warm inside me, typing reports while it leaks into my chair.”

Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper.

“After shift I’ll come straight back here. Every night. I’ll strip out of the uniform piece by piece—vest last—while you watch. I’ll crawl to you naked except for the collar you make me wear under my shirt during the day. I’ll beg you to use every hole. Throat until I gag and vomit again. Cunt until I’m raw and swollen. Ass until I can’t sit tomorrow. I’ll sleep here—curled at your feet, plugged and leaking—only to wake up and start again.”

She pressed her lips to the head of your cock, kissing it softly, reverently.

“I’ll never leave you exposed again. I’ll be your shield, your ghost, your secret. And every day—every single day—I’ll come here to be fucked until I forget my own name. Until the only thing left is this cunt, this mouth, this ass… and you.”

She opened her mouth wide, tongue flat, eyes locked on yours—waiting.

She opened her mouth wide, tongue flat, eyes locked on yours—waiting.

“Use me now,” she begged. “Fuck your savior pig. Fuck the woman who’ll burn the world to keep you safe. Fuck me until I can’t walk straight tomorrow… and then I’ll go to work and do it all again.”

“My handler called twice while you were fucking me,” she said softly. “They want a status update on the ‘ghost hacker’ lead by 0600 tomorrow.”

She held the phone out to you, screen facing you, thumb hovering over the call-back button.

“I can answer now. Live. On speaker. While you fuck me again. I can tell him I’m close… that I’m in the target’s house right now… that I have him subdued…”

Her cunt clenched visibly at the words, another bead of cum squeezing out.

“…and then I can moan for you. Let him hear. Let him wonder. Let him start the rumor that Trainee Voss lost her mind… or lost something else.”

She pressed the phone into your hand.

“Or… you can make the call. Tell him whatever you want. While I ride you. While I cum on your cock. While I seal my own destruction.”

Her eyes locked on yours—euphoric, terrified, completely surrendered.

“Your choice, Daddy.”

She spread wider. The badge lay between you, gleaming wetly in the puddle.

The phone buzzed again—another missed call from her handler.

The screen glowed.

0600 was six hours away.

Don't know what's gonna happen next