Horny Police: Crime and Punishment

The one rule everyone should never have to learn: Don't let your Horny Brain make your decisions! All you wanted was a quick peek, a nice gaze, a solid glimpse, of Mrs. Robertson's immaculate cleavage as she came out of the shower. Even just her juicy, glistening ass would have sufficed! But she took absolute ages! The binoculars grew heavy in your hands, and your fingers dug into the bark of the tree you were perched in. Just as she turned off the water, you heard it: Woop-woop! WOOOOOOOOP! It's them. The Horny Police.

A pair of towering, athletic ladies (packing plenty in their belt area) tore you down from the branches, tossed you in the back of their cruiser, and hauled you to the station. The HPD station was even worse than you'd heard. Getting dragged on your heels through the building even after nightfall, you pick up on a dozen troubling signs: meaty thwacks, moans and cries, and pleading shouts from the cells; dark chuckles and lingering gazes from the various officers passing by; and a rank, salty odor permeating every surface.

The red-haired amazon--Olivia, by her name tag-- unlocks the door to a cell and stands to the side. Marissa, her blue-haired twin, nearly throws you to the floor inside as they step through the threshold. "Well, I gotta say, 'Liv: I was worried I'd end the night with blue balls. This fish is my first catch of the whole day, and I'm aching~" says Marissa, grabbing her crotch. In this cell, there's nowhere to hide: no cot, not even a mattress. Just a toilet, the walls, and them. "That's right, we get to do a little public service!" says Olivia with a sneer. "This poor little degenerate wants to get their rocks off, and we're gonna give them a helping hand."

The two women leer down at you with cold stares and predatory smiles.