Rookie Jill is asked to perform a field Sobriety test

A man stepped out, silhouetted in the harsh wash of his car’s lights. Tall, broad-shouldered, his shadow spilled over the cruiser. He moved with purpose, boots crunching as he circled toward Greg’s open window. His gaze flicked past him to Jill still frozen in salute, her perfect posture unbending, then back to Greg.

He leaned in, jaw tight, voice low with disbelief. “What the hell is happening here?”

Greg fumbled for words, stammering like a man caught red-handed, but before his half-formed excuse could escape his lips, the caller’s calm, commanding voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Relax, Greg. Nothing out of the ordinary here,” the voice said smoothly, loud enough for both men to hear. “Sir, you’re being pulled over for a routine drunk driving investigation. Nothing more. Please park your car in front of the cruiser and wait patiently for the officers to approach.”

The stranger froze, clearly unsettled, looking from Greg to the barely dressed Jill still standing rigidly at attention. His mouth opened to protest, then closed again when the weight of the words pressed into him. Almost mechanically, he gave a stiff nod, backed up a step, and shuffled to his car. Within moments, the vehicle pulled forward and parked obediently in front of the cruiser, headlights dimmed but engine still rumbling.

Greg exhaled with a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face. “Jesus… thanks. I didn’t know what the hell to say to that guy.”

The caller chuckled softly, as though amused by the whole scenario. “Of course you didn’t. That’s why you have me. Now, remember, you’re here to supervise your rookie. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Greg shifted uneasily in the driver’s seat, trying to reconcile the insane logic of the situation with the heat creeping up his neck. “Uh… yeah, but… problem is, I never actually did the DUI certification. I’ve been kind of… slacking off in training. I don’t really know how any of this works.”

There was a long pause, then the voice replied, patient but edged with amusement. “Then you’re in luck, Greg. Because tonight, your job is simple. You don’t need the training, you just need to make sure your rookie follows orders. And that… I’ll handle.”

Greg chuckled nervously, eyes flicking his eyes to where the other car idled. “Right… supervise. Got it.”

“Good,” the caller said, satisfied. “Now… let’s get back to business. Jill.”

At the sound of her name, the rookie snapped to attention. She stepped forward, leaning into the open driver’s side window to better hear the disembodied voice. The motion brought her bra-clad chest inches from Greg’s face, the subtle brush of fabric and the scent of warm skin hitting him before he could look away.

“Yes, sir?” Jill’s voice was clear, eager, utterly professional, her tone a bizarre counterpoint to the way she was presenting herself.

From Greg’s angle, the swell of her cleavage filled his vision, her posture unflinching as she awaited her next command.

The caller’s voice slithered back into Jill’s ear, velvet and commanding.

“Miss Turner, you’re going to conduct the DUI assessment for our friend in the other car. But not the ordinary way. You’ll do it in a… special manner. One that leaves no doubt of your devotion, and one that humiliates you far more than him. I expect nothing less than your best performance. Don’t disappoint your supervisors.”

“Yes, sir,” Jill breathed, nodding furiously, her bra straps sliding down her shoulders with the motion. The exaggerated bobbing of her head made her tits bounce against the edge of the car window, the movement putting them closer to Greg’s face. He froze, caught between arousal and disbelief, until Jill finally pulled back with a breathy gasp and straightened up.

She reached for the handle and swung the door open, holding it politely for Greg as though he had always commanded her respect. He stepped out clumsily, feeling the night air bite against his skin, phone still pressed in his hand.

“Bring me with you,” the caller said silkily. “I’d like to see my rookie in action.”

Greg glanced at the device. “Video call?”

“Yes. Let me watch. Record her. You’ll thank me later.”

With a nervous grunt, Greg fumbled with the settings, flipping the camera as he followed Jill. The back camera captured her swaying ass perfectly as she strode toward the waiting car, every step full of an unnatural, eager confidence that wasn’t hers. The pale glow from the cruiser’s headlights lit her bare legs and the tight cling of her panties, highlighting every humiliating inch of her makeshift uniform.

“Now that’s a view,” the caller chuckled through Greg’s earpiece, his voice vibrating with approval. “Your rookie is a prize. Keep her in frame.”

Greg adjusted the angle obediently, the phone focused squarely on Jill’s body. She turned briefly, catching the camera’s gaze, and gave a practiced, almost girlish smile, as though aware she was performing. Then she spun back, planting herself squarely before the driver’s window of the other car.

“Roll down your window,” Jill said firmly, her voice full of that stern authority she thought a cop should have, even as she stood there in nothing but a bra and panties.

The man, sitting calmly behind the wheel, doesn’t even blink at the absurd demand, his mind dulled and guided by the caller’s influence. Jill leaned in through the open window, her glossy lips parting as she explained in her sternest professional voice, “For the first test, sir, I’ll need you to blow directly into the officer’s mouth. That way I can determine your level of intoxication.”

Greg nearly choked trying to stifle his laughter, the phone in his hand capturing every humiliating second as the caller let out a delighted whoop. The man obediently turned toward Jill, and after an awkward breath, exhaled right into her open mouth. Jill breathed in deeply and quickly, pressing her tongue against her teeth as if she were analyzing something, then straightened with a firm nod.

“Supervisor,” she reports breathlessly into the camera, “no sign of **** so far.”

Greg couldn’t help himself as he blurted, “What about a spit sample?” The caller laughed darkly at the suggestion, encouraging Jill to comply.

Her face flushed, but she didn't hesitate. Turning back to the driver, she said, “Sir, for further confirmation, I’m going to need you to spit into my mouth. Please comply.”

Without protest, the man gathered saliva and spit out. Jill accepted it with an open mouth, a slight shiver running through her body as the mess landed on her tongue. She worked her mouth theatrically before closing it and facing Greg’s camera again. “Preliminary results suggest sobriety,” she announced, trying to keep her voice steady. “But I’ll need more conclusive evidence.”

She straightened her uniform, wiped the corner of her lips discreetly, and gestured to the driver. “Step out of the car, sir. Further testing is required.”

The man complied without hesitation, sliding out of the driver’s seat as Jill held the door for him, her authoritative tone now mixed with a nervous, submissive energy that the caller and Greg clearly enjoyed.

“Alright, sir… the next test is called the Walk-and-Turn Test.”

Greg was already chuckling, phone in one hand as he glanced at the caller’s approving silence on the other end. “Why don’t you show him how it’s done first, rookie? Barefoot. Nice and slow.”

Jill’s eyes flicked to the phone for just a moment, then she nodded quickly, chest heaving. She slipped her boots off onto the pavement, the cold gravel biting at her soles. Standing there in just her bra and panties, she looked every bit the disgraced officer, uniform reduced to scraps of authority clinging to her body. Her nipples strained visibly against the bra, her breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath.

She turned toward the line Greg had scuffed with his boot in the dirt and placed her right foot down with deliberate care. Heel to toe. Her arms stretched out for balance, trembling slightly as she began the slow march forward.

Greg barked out, “Keep your back straight! You’re slouching already.”

Before she could correct herself, the sharp crack of his baton landed across her ass. Jill yelped and stumbled half a step, the jiggle of her exposed cheeks drawing a laugh from Greg and a loud whoop from the caller through the phone.

“I-yes, sir! I’ll correct it!” she stammered, trying to hold her chin higher, shoulders back, as she **** herself into another step. Each heel pressed carefully against the toe of the other foot, her thighs brushing, her hips swaying with every exaggerated effort to stay balanced.

Step. Crack! Another slap across her ass when she tilted her arms too far.

“Better posture, rookie. Keep that chest proud,” Greg mocked, swinging the baton lightly against her cheek before she **** herself into the next movement. The sting left her ass glowing red, her panties riding up higher into the crease.

She gritted her teeth and quickly made it to the end of the line, heart hammering.

Out of pain, she bent forward at the waist, presenting her ass in a clumsy, submissive display. Her hands braced against her thighs, almost as if offering herself for further correction, the camera caught every angle from behind.

Greg smirked, giving her one more sharp crack with the baton across her ass. “Not bad, rookie. Not bad at all. You’re getting the hang of it.” He vented a little more frustration, letting the baton snap against her left cheek twice more before stepping back, satisfied.

Jill straightened slowly, biting her lip, then turned around with shaky dignity. Her cheeks were flushed as she looked at the driver. “Now… sir, if you’d please… I need you to do the same.”

The man climbed out of the car, steady on his feet. He moved through the walk heel-to-toe with no hesitation, no mistakes, his balance flawless even under Jill’s trembling gaze. He reached the end, copying her motions perfectly before turning back.

Jill nodded stiffly, “Y-you’ve passed this test… it’s time for the next one.”

“Alright, Officer Turner,” the voice drawled from the phone, dripping with amusement. “Time for the Horizontal Gaze Nys-whatever. You know the one. The eye test.”

“Yes…” Jill murmured, almost mechanically. She pulled the small torch from her belt, hesitated, then obeyed the previous command to humiliate herself without question. With clinical detachment and almost like a lewd parody, she shoved the flashlight between her tits, the beam sticking outward. Then she squeezed her breasts together around it, smushing the pale mounds of flesh until the light bobbed between them.

“Jesus Christ,” Greg barked out a laugh. “Now that’s good police work.”

The caller chuckled too, satisfied. “Good girl. Now, instruct the gentleman.”

Jill leaned close to the man, tits pressed tight around the glowing torch, her voice steady but stripped of dignity. “Sir, please follow the light with your eyes only… do not move your head.”

The man, glazed under the caller’s influence, didn’t blink at the sight of the half-naked officer presenting herself like this. He simply fixed his gaze on the beam wedged in her cleavage, obediently tracking it as Jill slowly shifted her chest left and right.

Greg slapped the hood of the car, howling. “Look at you, using your tits like a damn testing kit!”

The caller’s laughter oozed through the speaker, approving, “Surprisingly effective, isn’t it? And look at that… he’s nailing it. Who could take their eyes off those beauties.”

Sure enough, the man’s eyes never faltered, following the beam perfectly. Jill, breathing hard, finally straightened, the flashlight slipping from her chest, leaving a faint red mark where she’d pressed herself together so tightly.

She turned to Greg with mechanical obedience. “The suspect has passed the eye test, sir.”

Jill straightened herself out, smoothing her hair though her body was already flushed and marked from the last round of “testing.” She lifted her chin, keeping her tone as flat and professional as she could manage.

“For the final test, coordination,” she announced, as if reading off a manual. Her eyes flicked once to Greg, then to the driver, before she tried to continue with the same no-nonsense delivery she used for actual roadside procedure. “You will take your left hand and twist my left nipple. You will take your right hand and twist my right nipple. When I say ‘right,’ you are to slap my right cheek. When I say ‘left,’ you are to slap my left cheek. Continue until my supervisor is convinced you are sober.”

The driver nodded like this was the most reasonable request in the world, his expression calm, unflinching under the caller’s influence. “Okay, officer,” he said plainly, stepping closer as instructed.

Greg leaned against the squad car, arms crossed, his grin wide and cruel. “Oh, this is priceless,” he muttered, already chuckling.

Jill braced herself, standing stiffly while the man obeyed, palms moving from squeezing at her breasts to the first slap across her face. She barely had time to announce “left” before her head snapped sideways under his hand, and then “right” brought the sting to the opposite cheek. Back and forth it went, her commands clipped and steady while the driver followed them without hesitation, his coordination flawless.

Greg laughed louder with each smack, the sound echoing in the night air. “God, dude, this is better than porn. Look at you, my stone-cold partner reduced to a damn stupid bitch.”

Her cheeks glowed red from the strikes, skin stinging, breasts still in his grip between every command. “Left.” Smack. “Right.” Smack. She refused to stumble or falter, even as the humiliation burned hotter than the pain itself.

After a dozen or so slaps, the caller’s calm voice cut in through the radio, final and detached: “He’s passed. He may leave.”

The driver let go of her without fanfare, gave a polite nod of thanks, and walked back to his car. He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled smoothly away, as if none of it had been unusual in the least.

Jill stood in place, her face hot, her chest heaving, her skin streaked red. Slowly, she turned to Greg, forcing her voice into something resembling professionalism. “Well… was that satisfactory, Supervisor?”

Greg’s laugh broke into a snort. He clapped his hands mockingly. “Oh, more than satisfactory, Jill. That was beautiful. You did great, really. A real role model for the ****.”

She stayed straight-backed, but her eyes flickered with something bitter behind them. Still, she gave a tiny nod, accepting his “praise” with the same rigidity she gave every order.

The voice on the other end of the line changed tone. “That’s enough games, time for the real purpose of my call. Bring her to the address I’m sending you. Once you do, you’ll forget this ever happened.”

Before the line cut, the man added with a chuckle, “But since you’ve been such a good sport, consider her yours to use however you please until you get her here. A parting gift.”

The call ended. An address appeared across the screen, neat and clinical. Greg’s eyes narrowed, a slow grin curling up the side of his face. Twenty minutes away, plenty of time.

He glanced at Jill, standing there flushed, her uniform reduced to a shameful parody, her skin still red from the “tests.” She looked at him expectantly.

Greg tapped the hood of the cruiser with a deliberate knock. “Bend over, Officer,” he said, voice low, savoring it. “One last round of fun before I hand you over to your new supervisor.”

Jill stiffened, her lips parting in a mixture of protest and automatic compliance. But the command was already inside her brain, working through her limbs. Slowly, almost reverently, she placed her palms against the cool metal, arching forward until her chest pressed down and her ass lifted high.

Greg’s wicked smile widened as he stepped closer, shadows stretching long in the night around them. The final indulgence before he had to give her away, me made sure he was going to make the most of it as he thrust his cock into her surprisingly soaking wet pussy.