We're feminists and we don't need no men, duh!

After planting his own ass in the police cruisers driver seat, Llyod looked over to his cuffed passenger. The disshelved police woman had, in an angle that was hardly possible, landed face first into her seat, with her massive booty looking straight at the front window. And in combination with her flimsy excuse for clothes, that meant that anyone standing in front of the car and looking in would only see two fat globes of black booty on the passager seat and a lanky white youngster in street clothes steering this vehicle of the police ****.
What were the odds? Lucky son of a bitch....

"My colleagues, you little boardwalk tramp", he patted the fleshy basketballs that were raised at his heads height next to him.

"bdhht soour, thaaas n-", she mumbled into the seat her face was pressed in. Her kneeling form was hilarious to see, but horrible to hear.

"Speak up you hussy!", Llyod launched his right hand in the air and brought it down like a comet to the two planet-sized globes of black ass.

*SMACK*

"Yes!", her face pushed forth in the seat and now looked at him. "I was saying that Sir, the police station is part of a revolutionary new initiative. We're - I mean You are an all-female precinct. I guess with you there's an exception..."

The roleplay faultered again. Llyod looks down at her beatiful face, currently scrunched in confusion. And quite literally scrunched into the seats cushion under the weight of her upholsted body. Llyod gave her a (hopefully) very reassuring spank on her ass and talked down at her.

"What does a streetwalker like you know about my police station? Must have seen the cells plenty of times, didn't you?", Llyod threw at her hopefully.

"YES! The drying-out cell is mah second home, you know it!", got it, we're back.

Llyod took a look at the GPS and luckily for him, the system was already set for the police station as the home destination. Only one problem left..... Llyod doesn't have a drivers license. Hell, he never even drove a car. They had a Drivers-Ed car in High School, yes, but Llyod never got to drive it. One day before his first scheduled hour, Chuck had taken that car for a nightly drinking dive. He crashed it against a lamp post and remained, sadly, completely unharmed. But the one thing he left behind in the car when he stumbled out? Llyods coursework. Yes. The homework he had bullied out of Llyod that day and had until that point been to lazy to change the name on top of. So when the teacher responsible found the car and Llyods papers on the backseat, Llyod got a lifelong ban on driving lessons from school.

So what if he doesn't have any experience driving? So what if the police cruiser is one behemoth of a car, a true battleship on the streets? How difficult can it really be?

Not that hard actually. Luckily the car was an automatic, so at least there was no gear shifting to worry about. And as if by cosmic coincidence, the streets were basically empty that day. And with Fuckmeats humiliating position, she couldn't even remotely see the road, so there was exactly zero pressure to perform under observation. Nice.

.

.

.

Wow, these new electric cars are really easy to drive. Llyod basically floated through the streets and the system navigated him splendidly through to the police station. At least that's what the massive letters above the entrance spell out. But the people in front of it scream "whorehouse". Well, "whorehouse with police theme", to be fair.

Before Llyod could even come to the point of worrying about how explain to anyone at the station why he had a police officer on his passenger seat, kneeling on her head even, a loud siren rang from the police department. In a matter of seconds countless women run out of the building and toward their cars. One woman in specific standing in the yard sees him still on the street before the station and runs over.

"Sir, are you on your way into the station? Could I take your service vehicle on my way to the code 4-20 in downtown?", a more mature one of the bombshells that served as policewomen asked him.

"Sure go right ahead, me and my partner will hand it over. All for the ****, right?", Llyod got out right there on the street in front of the station, got around the car and pulled the crumbled Officer Fuckmeat out ofm the passager door. Once she stood again, her face perked up at seeing her colleague.

"Hey Lessandra! Nice to see you!", even though she was dishelved, barely clothed and cuffed behind back with her own handcuffs.

Something that the woman on the other side of the car luckily couldn't see from her position and was thus oblivious to.

"Oh Justine! Always a pleasure to see you! I didn't know you have started to do your yoga exercises in the car now as well, that looked really nice, maybe you should show us all some moves! But now I'll have to leave, you can introduce your new detective partner to me when I'm back, see you later!", the woman closed the doors, didn't wait for an answer and rushed off.

Llyod noticed that his prisoner "Fuckmeat" had lost her hat in her car, so the cuffed ebony beauty in a pornstar-like uniform looked even more like a hooker that got busted. A massive smirk on his lips, he gripped her hands and shoved her through the now empty yard of the police station.

"Come on, speed up! You and your stripper heels, no wonder you couldn't run away when I busted your ass", he dragged the smoldering fetishist into the building.

"Oh shut it, you cracker! I didn't do nothing and ya won't pin anything on me, no matter how deep you search me", the police woman that was lost in her own roleplay used her hands behind her back to pull up and reveal her ass fully in time with her taunting mention of a cavity search.

The two pushed between through the door of the station and reached the reception.

"Justine? Are you handcuffed? And who's that guy?", the mousy receptionist looked over her tiny desk. She was a beatiful women, straight out of one of those commercials where a librarian acts stuffy, lets her hair down and is then revealed to be a total sexbomb. Her hair was still in a bun, but she already looked like the "after"-version.

"Hey Agnes, this is-"

"Oh, is that the new lead detective the commisioner has been requesting for ages? Has he cuffed you for a disciplinary process? Should I procure him a new badge and a gun? Hav-", the demure little redhead started talking like a waterfall and blabbered on about everything that happened today, yesterday and apparently back in January last year, it seemed. The lucky coincidence that interested Llyod come up early enough though that he still heard it.

"Yes, I'm the new guy. Here's my ID, go ahead and make my papers ready and get me a gun, okay sweetheart?", Llyod got out his papers and put them on the desk.

"Sure, you old sweet talker", the receptionist that apparently had an unsatisfied fetish of being treated like a secretary from the sixties winked at him and get to work. "But you'll have to go and introduce yourself to the chief right away, okay Sir? Just go through the hallway on the left and take the elevator all the way to the top, you can't miss it."

Now what were the odds for the chief of police here to be an intimidating, tough woman? What were the odds she an amazonian with a soft spot for him? Only one way to find out.

"Oh, Detective ... Ahm.... Golson, shouldn't you keep Officer Fogmead here to wait for your disciplinary hearing?"