ADDITIONAL TAGS: Big Breasted Latina Detective, Guns, Standoff, Ballbusting Kicks, Ballbreaking Threats
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When you’re a cop there’s a lot of stupid things you have to deal with. Stupid things like angry couples arguing in the middle of the night. Or old ladies with dementia thinking they’ve been robbed when in reality they’ve just misplaced their jewelry on Christmas trees they’d forgotten to take down months ago.
You know. Stupid stuff.
But when Detective Darwin Spooner got assigned a new partner four years ago and that partner happened to be an old ex from the academy days, he knew one day she’d be the reason why he died stupidly.
Because nothing is stupider than love…
The rhythmic thwip-thwip-thwip of a failing industrial exhaust fan beats against the suffocating Sandi City’s summer heat inside the abandoned port warehouse. Rain from a sudden tropical downpour drums violently on the corrugated iron roof, nearly drowning out the sound of heavy steel toe footsteps on concrete and the voice of a pissed off cop.
"SCPD! Drop the weapon Stanly!"
Alyssa Michael’s voice rings out, sharp and commanding. She’s a Five-Seven Latina bombshell on her tallest days, with rich caramel skin and large expressive chocolate brown eyes that could make any man with a working cock fold straight. Or run away terrified when you realize she’s staring at you with the eyes of a goddess who eradicates evil.
“Fuck you bitch!” Stanly shouts back, breathing heavily.
Like the trapped rat he is, the killer knows his cat and mouse game is coming to a close. All because of the bitch cop who wouldn’t let him go like every other Sandi cop has in the past.
Those cops were dumb but these two…
Being a little more than a “top heavy” babe with 32H cup breasts and drenched brunette hair with blonde highlights, Alyssa relentlessness gets her to the finish line no matter what race she’s in.
But right now her breathing is shallow and nervous. She’s on edge tonight, pressed flat against a rusted blue shipping container with her service weapon raised in a textbook two-handed grip. Sweat and rain tracks through the grime on her forehead as she peers over at her suspect.
Alyssa and Spooner have spent six months chasing Cesar Stanly, the "Bus Stop Butcher," a serial killer who has eluded the Sandi City Police Department for years. The recent murders landed the two homicide detectives on the front page of the Beach Blues. Twice.
Tonight, the chase ends.
Across the dark floor a shadow shifts. A flash of lightning outside a cracked window illuminates Stanly…and the semi-automatic rifle in his hands.
“Michael, get down!”
She hears Darwin's warning just as a Muzzle flashes and a deafening roar splits the air.
Bullets shred the shipping container, showering Alyssa in sparks and razor-sharp paint chips. She ducks, pinned down, her black pants clinging to her wide ass as the metal groans under the onslaught. She can't get a clear angle. Her heart hammers against her ribs. She looks across the aisle to the opposite row of crates where Darwin is stationed.
Darwin is a man of precise proportions, standing five-eleven with a build that suggests a history of athletics he’d rather not discuss. He has the kind of light-skinned African American complexion that looks golden under the harsh lights of the 28th precinct, contrasted by a pair of startlingly clear baby blue eyes that seem to see through a suspect's lies before they even open their mouth.
His light brown hair is kept in a tight, disciplined crop of curls, and his face is perpetually clean-shaven, a habit born from a desperate need for order in a city as chaotic as Sandi.
He swears under his breath when the rifle flares again. He hears his partner shoot back, trying to catch Stanly’s wide frame before he takes cover again.
He’s smart too. Military trained. Had a gym membership near all the crime scenes. He’s the worst of the worst and Alyssa wants him to pay for what he’d done to all those women…
Click-Click…click.
“Shit.”
She’s out.
“Son of a…”
Darwin hears it and immediately shifts his weight, sliding an inch closer to the edge of his crate to gauge the distance between himself and the Butcher. He sees the bigger man’s smirk, knowing Alyssa is pinned and out of ammo. But he wasn't.
Her nervous breath comes in ragged echoing hitches, and the thought of her vulnerability sends a sharp, electric jolt of protectiveness through Darwin’s chest.
“Damnit…don’t be stupid,” he tells himself.
But that jolt. It’s the same feeling he’d had ten years ago in the academy gym, watching her out-bench every man in the room without breaking a sweat.
Darwin sees the large Six-Two killer advancing on Alyssa’s blind spot. He knows the tactical playbook backward and forward, and the playbook says stay in cover and wait for backup. But backup is ten minutes away, and Alyssa has roughly five seconds before…
No. He can’t even think. Ten years of history, four years of partnership, and a decade of unsaid words evaporate in a single heartbeat. Darwin doesn't want to think.
He acts.
"Hey! Over here, asshole!" Darwin roars.
Darwin breaks cover, throwing his entire body into the open aisle. He fires three rapid-fire suppression shots into the dark, intentionally drawing Stanly’s focus.
It works. The blonde man spins, tracking the new target.
“Drop dead!”
The rifle barks and round catches Darwin high in his left shoulder. The impact spins him around, knocking him hard against a concrete pillar, his weapon skittering across the floor. He slumps down, clutching his blood-soaked red Hawaiian shirt, completely exposed.
"Darwin!?"
Alyssa’s scream is primal, stripping away four years of professional distance.
The killer turns back to finish Darwin off, raising the rifle barrel. But Darwin’s gamble bought her the one thing she needed: an angle. Alyssa steps out from behind the container, completely disregarding her own safety and sprints as fast as she can, slapping her wet steel toes hard to eat up distance.
Time slows down. She locks her eyes on the killer’s spread legs and ignores the rain, the blood, and the panic tearing through her veins. An old nickname her mother used to call her when she’d come home to find all of Alyssa’s older brothers dry heaving and whimpering flashes through her mind.
“Huevo Loco Chica.” Crazy Egg Girl.
“You're wide open!”
Alyass unleashes the ultimate ballbursting nutshot kick she’s ever thrown in her life. Praying it saves her partner’s life and breaks this creep’s sex life forever she makes sure to go for both nuts instead of aiming for one. She wanted them both crushed beyond repair.
Cruuuuuch!!!
It is a beautiful, lucky, impossible shot through the dim, smoky warehouse light. Alyssa’s right boot scoops up the killer’s low hanging pink testicles dead-center and scores the jackpot. Smashing the droopy man eggs so hard against Stanly’s thick thighs his eyes bug out and he immediately freezes, unable to pull the trigger.
The air left Stanly in a sudden, violent vacuum. For a heartbeat, there’s a terrifying silence where the only sound is the drumming rain on the roof, and then his jaw drops. Not in surprise, but as a physiological reaction to the sheer, radiating ball agony blooming in his kicked manhood.
“Awwwwhhhh!!!”
A guttural, strangled scream rips from his throat, a sound less like a human and more like a dying animal. As Alyssa pulls her foot back and reloads it, the sudden release of pressure seems to trigger a fresh wave of neurological shock that buckles his knees, but the instinctive grip of a cornered killer is a powerful thing.
His fingers remain locked around the rifle's grip in a white-knuckled spasm, the weapon still leveled precariously at Darwin’s chest height.
“Drop the gun or I’ll break your fucking huevos right now! I swear to god I’ll do it!”
He doesn't drop the gun. He can’t. The shock had paralyzed his lower half, but his upper body is trapped in a fight-or-flight loop that refuses to let go of the only thing providing him a sense of power. He sways on his feet, eyes glazed and watering, the rifle wobbling in a dangerous, erratic arc.
So Alyssa doesn't hold back her second field-goal-winning testicle kick that's filled with the intent to stay true to her threat.
She’s breaking these eggs open like they’re hard boiled.
WHAM—CRRRKKK!
Stanly’s world shrinks down to the size of his heavy ballsack. He can feel the unforgiving steel of detective Michael’s boots as it collides with both of his testicles, hammering them further and further out of shape with female rage.
His precious nuts, which had spent all these months as a pair of increasingly fat and heavy spheres, enjoying his twisted kills, were now being pounded into a shapeless pulp.
“Uuuhhh My Balls!”
It only takes two strong Latina ball kicks to drop the beast like a stone. Alyssa’s chest wobbles as she watches his weapon clatter harmlessly against the floor and his knees cross inward.
“Choke on them, pussy!”
Alyssa growls but feels confident that she’s destroyed his will to fight when he moans pathetically and drops to his side in pure agony while cupping his swollen nutties.
“Awwwhhh Noooo My Ballssss!”
“You have the right to remain silent. Say anything and try to get up again and I’ll stomp those fat balls of yours flat, understood?!”
“Yessss!”
Crying and shivering, the once big bad gym bro, bus stop killer, becomes a powerless broken ball bitch who’s going to pay for his crimes. He doesn’t fight back so Alyssa cuffs the freak before he gets any ideas. Silence crashes back into the room again, save for the patter of rain, Stanly’s high pitch squealing for his broken nuts, and the heavy wheezing of two battered detectives.
“Spoon!”
Alyssa wastes no time to sprint-slides across the wet concrete, collapsing to her knees right in front of Darwin. Her hands are immediately all over him, pressing desperately against the wound on his shoulder.
"H-Hey! Hey! Look at me, look at me, Spooner, damn it, look at me," she breathes, her voice shaking violently as she tries to apply pressure.
Darwin lets out a ragged laugh, his face pale but his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that makes the humid air feel entirely too hot. He reaches up with his good hand, his fingers curling around her wrist, stopping her trembling hands.
"I’ve…told you before," Darwin wheezes, a faint, stubborn smirk breaking through the pain. "I'm...not a gambling man. I only bet...on a sure thing."
Alyssa lets out a half-sob, half-laugh, leaning her forehead against his uninjured shoulder as the distant, sweet sound of SCPD sirens finally begins to wail in the distance.