Eliza Ibarra

Rookie Rodriguez just started week two of riding with Holmes. They roll up on a house full of ex-cons, step out to investigate, and then the damn radios go dead. She heads back for backup, only her car’s vanished. Furious, she storms around to the garage and finds the idiot crew who boosted it stuffed inside, laughing like hyenas. Fine—new plan. She lays the truth out cold: give her the keys or lose their pants. They strip. Surprise hits her hard—these pricks are hung. She drops, gags, bats her tongue across heavy balls, then lines them up one after another, milking every slick inch until every load lands in her throat and she swallows it clean.