The police station smelled like stale coffee, cheap cologne, and the faint musk of sweat. Desks clattered with paperwork, radios crackled with updates, but all eyes inevitably drifted toward Officer Stiles whenever she walked in.

Her uniform wasn’t really standard issue anymore. The shirt was tailored two sizes too small, buttons straining against her big tits, the top two always undone to flash deep cleavage. Her pencil skirt had been hemmed so short that every time she bent over to grab a file, her ass cheeks peeked out. Black stockings clung to her thick thighs, garter straps visible when she crossed her legs. Even her holster was tilted low on her hips like a fashion accessory.

“Morning, slut,” one of the younger cops, John, muttered with a smirk as she passed. He didn’t even lower his voice.

Stiles licked her glossed lips, smirking. “Careful, rookie… unless you wanna find out how I punish disrespectful little boys.” She tapped her baton against his desk, letting him watch the way her tits jiggled inside the shirt.

Everyone laughed. That was Stiles—no shame, no modesty. The department slut.

She strutted to her senior officer’s office—Captain McCall, a grizzled man in his fifties with a belly and greedy eyes. He never hid how much he loved groping her. Stiles knocked, then poked her head in.

“You called for me, Captain?” she purred, voice dripping sugar.

“Get your ass in here,” he growled, waving her inside. His office blinds were half-shut, enough to keep it private, but not enough to stop rumors. Everyone knew exactly what went on in there.

Stiles stepped in, hips swaying, skirt riding dangerously high. Captain McCall leaned back in his chair, eyes glued to her tits.

“Uniform looks even tighter today,” he said. “You do that for me?”

Stiles straddled his chair without waiting for an invitation, her skirt riding up until her bare thighs hugged his. “Maybe I did,” she whispered, grinding her big boobs against his chest.

He grunted, hands immediately grabbing handfuls of her ass. “Fuck, you’re a little whore. You like the whole damn station knowing you’re my personal slut, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles moaned, pretending to pout. “They all know I’m only good for my tits and pussy. That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?”

He squeezed her harder, groaning. “Damn right. Now… be a good girl and give your Captain his morning massage.”

Stiles smirked, pushing him back in the chair. She rolled her hips over his lap, deliberately pressing her crotch against the bulge in his slacks. Her hands slid under his shirt, kneading his chest, while his hands roamed greedily up her blouse to squeeze her tits.

“Mm… you’re so hard already, Captain,” she teased, biting her lip. “You want me to ride you right here again? With the door unlocked so they can all hear me scream?”

He groaned, slapping her ass. “Fuck, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Whole precinct hearing you get fucked like the slut you are.”

Outside, a pair of officers walked by, hearing faint moans through the door. One snickered, the other shook his head.

“She’s probably bouncing on him already,” one whispered. “I swear, that bitch lives for cock.”

“Bet she’ll spread her legs for half the criminals too,” the other laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Back inside, Stiles’s lips were at Captain McCall’s ear. “Mmm… let them talk,” she whispered filthily. “They’re right. I do live for cock. And I’m your slut until you get tired of me.”

Her Captain groaned, grinding up into her shamelessly.