Cops in Britney Spears

Cruising in an LAPD cruiser on a warm SoCal night, heading toward Britney Spears' mansion with Sargeant Jackson at my side and two union cameramen trailing behind. Why the hell did we agree to film an episode of COPS? And why the hell are they still making that show in the 2020's, with the next "mostly peaceful protest" just one "viral" video clip away?

"So we got a concerned phone call from Britney's father, because she's been acting a little . . . erratic lately," I say toward the camera, trying to sound like a cool witty CBS-style detective.

"A

little

erratic?" Jackson snickers. "That bitch was dancing with butcher knives in a tiny bikini, like a fucking circus freak."

"Watch your language, Jackson."

"We can swear all we fucking want, McDavid. COPS is on a premium streaming site now."

"Anyway, the Princess of Pop is going off the deep end, so we're going to her mansion to do a welfare check."

"We're gonna 'check her out' and see if she needs some service. I mean, some help."

"Yeah, we're used to these mental health runs. Los Angeles has the most nutjobs per capita of any city in the world."

"By far."

We pull up to Britney's lavish mansion and strut away from the cruiser like old-school 1970's cops. Doug and Dave trail behind with two UHD cameras. (It would be so cool if they added a funky

Shaft-

style instrumental here in post-production.)

"We're pretty damn lucky to get the celebrity beat, instead of Junkyville and Bumtown," I remark. A high-end security camera stares down at us as Jackson rings the doorbell. Britney's iconic sexy semi-Cajun accent crackles through an overhead speaker.

"Hey there, officers. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, Miss Spears, your father is really concerned about that 'Bladerunner' video you made yesterday, and some other strange stunts you've been pulling lately. We're here to do a welfare check."

"Damn, I can't get that guy off my ass. All right, come on in," she mutters. She opens the door, and our jaws drop open in shock. That hot forty-something peroxide blonde is wearing an even skimpier pink bikini than one she wore in that viral video. Bordering on a public indecency charge.

"Damn, girl, you are looking

fiiine,

" my partner blurts out. "Forty is the new sexy."

Britney giggles sweetly.

"Keep it professional, Jackson," I warn.

"Hey, what are those camera guys doing here?" she asks suspiciously. "Is this some kinda joke?"

"No joke, Miss Spears. We're real cops, and you're

on

COPS."

"Oh my god, I love that show!

Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"

she sings without autotune, wiggling her amazing ass.

"God, I hate that stupid song," I groan.

"Is everything okay, Britney?" Jackson asks. "Dancing with butcher knives in a porn star bikini is not the kind of thing a sane person would do."

"I'm certifiably sane, officers. I was just copying one of Shakira's dance numbers."

"Shakira, eh?"

"Hell yeah.

I'm on tonight / you know my hips don't lie (no fighting) and I'm starting to feel you, boy!

" she sings like that milf latina pop star, gyrating her hips hypnotically.

"I'm feelin' ya too, Britney. Your hips sure

don't

lie."

"Shut up, Jackson," I grunt, elbowing his ribs. "I'm not convinced, Miss Spears. You seem rather . . . off-kilter to me."

"Off-

kilter?

Whatever gave you that idea?"

"About a hundred different things, ever since '99. Like that time you shaved your head, and kissed Madonna at the Grammy Awards, and danced with a live python at your concert, and kissed Rihanna at the Billboard Music Awards, and whacked a reporter with an umbrella, and married some guy in Vegas, then divorced him two days later."

"Not to mention that time you flashed your pussy to the paparazzi."

"They say I'm crazy / I don't really care / that's my prerogative,"

Britney sings like Bobby Brown. I sigh wearily, and so does Sergeant Jackson. This fake blonde bitch has gone bananas.

"You're cute, honey," Britney says to me, tossing her shiny peroxide bangs and tilting her head flirtatiously. "Can I hold your club?"

Whoa, she's getting crazier by the minute . . . and I'm getting hornier by the minute. "Uh . . . okay. But we call them 'nightsticks.'"

I pull a defensive aluminum baton off my utility belt and give it to Britney. She strokes it like a giant dildo.

"Ooh yeah, this is a nice long stick. So smooth and shiny. Lemme see

your

nightstick, Sergeant Jackson."

Jackson glances at the cameramen behind him with a bewildered expression, breaking the fourth wall like Jim Halpert on

The Office.

He pulls out his baton and gives it to her with a sly grin.

"Oh shit,

two

big black rods," she murmurs seductively. "I'm gonna make another viral dance video for COPS. Live from coast to coast, in living color."

"COPS has never been a live show, Britney," I reply, trying hard not to laugh.

"Really? Wow. I guess that makes sense, in case you guys get shot or something."

Britney grabs a smart phone, plays a Ed Sheeran song, and prances around with our nightsticks. Just like yesterday, when she shocked her vapid Instagram followers with that 'slutty butcher' dance. The same clueless followers who demanded she be "liberated" from a conservatorship with her "domineering" father. Now she's off her meds and off her rocker.

She rubs our sticks all over her slender body while grinding her ass like a stripper, and singing along with Eddie.

"Oooh, I love it when you do it like that / and when you're close up / give me the shivers . . ."

Doug and Dave circle around, getting some great UHD shots of her shiny scantily-clad body. She slides Jackson's stick between her legs, thrusting her pelvis back and forth, frotting that rod like Harry Potter's magic broom.

"Holy shit," Jackson chortles. "Is this really happening, bro?"

"Don't pinch me out of this dream."

The song winds to a close, and Britney finishes with a flourish, twirling around like a ballerina with those black clubs pointing straight outward. Like a cop copter.

"What do you think, boys? Was that a buzzworthy performance?"

You got me 'buzzing' alright," I blurt out.

"Well,

that's

pretty obvious," she giggles, pointing a nightstick toward my crotch. We realize that our dicks got hard while she was dancing. Pushing our navy blue police pants to the limit.

"Oh my god. I can't believe I got a boner on a fucking COPS episode," Jackson groans.

"I give guys lots of guys boners, everywhere I go."

Britney steps closer and wraps our sticks around our backs. Oh my

god.

"Uh . . . what are you doing, Miss Spears?" I croak awkwardly.

"I got

another

crazy idea, officers. Let's turn this low-budget reality show into a low-budget porno."

"Oh

shit,"

I gape in unison with Jackson.

"Come on, it'll be wicked fun. I've always dreamed about having a three-way with some hunky blue boys."

She steps closer, pushing our cocks against her barely-there bikini bottom.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Jackson blubbers.

"Do you realize how much trouble you're asking for, girl?"

"We won't get in trouble if you don't publish the video. We'll reshoot this scene afterward to make it TV-PG. In the meantime, let's make it X - X -

X!

"

She grabs our dicks through our pants, making us moan simultaneously.

"Oh fuck, you crazy slut," I murmur throatily.

"You

know

I'm a crazy slut. I'll give you guys the time of your

life.

"

I roll my eyes toward Jackson and the camera guys, who also have raging boners. "Aww man, I wanna bang that MTV bitch so bad."

"Me too. But it's so risky."

"Fuck the risk. Go for it!" Dave grunts behind us.

"Never pass up a chance to live out your wildest fantasies," Doug adds.

"Good advice, Mister Cameraman," I chuckle, with my wang taking control of my brain. "It's a deal, baby. A nice one-day recording contract."

"Get our big LAPD dicks in your mouth, Slutty Spears."

"Yes sir, Action Jackson," Britney giggles sweetly. She unbuckles our utility belts, unzips our zippers, and yanks our briefs down to our ankles. My seven-inch prick springs proudly outward. Slightly longer than Jackson's.

"Ooh yeah,

that's

what I'm hungry for

,

" she murmurs throatily. "A nice hot cop fudge sundae."

She grabs our shafts firmly, and shoves mine deep into her mouth.

"A-hooo, fuuuuuuck!

"

I growl triumphantly, tilting my head up toward a fancy crystal chandelier. She twists her head all the way up and down while twisting her right hand up and down Jackson's shaft. "You suck cock way better than you sing."

She giggles with a mouthful, then she pulls out and grins up at my face. "Twenty-five years of practice makes perfect, officer."

She shoves it back in her mouth, making feel so fucking good. She moans harshly, making lots of awkward squishy spittle noises. Doug puts his camera right next to her bobbing face, capturing every nuance of sight and sound. A "next level" blowjob, magically delicious.

"Come on, Slutty Spears," Jackson grunts. "Get off that vanilla dick, and get some hot fudge."

"Hell yeah, playa!" she beams, moving her blonde head over to Jackson's johnson. She gives him the same athletic performance, making him groan just as loud while jerking me slowly with her left hand.

"Fuck yeaaah, shawdy. Choke on that big black cop dick." She gags ten times, making him growl triumphantly. "Awww

yeaaah,

ya freaky white bitch. I'm way better than your old boy K-Fed. What the hell was you thinking, fucking round w'dat joke fool?"

"She wasn't thinking at all," I reply for her. Britney giggles without missing a beat. She keeps blowing that black dude while I gaze at her luxurious living room. Those infamous butcher knives are sitting on an antique mahogany settee, next to an empty whiskey bottle and a tall stack of 2000's porn DVDs, including

Spunk'd, The Da Vinci Load,

and

Mad JaXXX: Beyond Thunderboobs.

"Get naked, bitch," I growl real macho-like. "Show us those million-dollar titties."

"Yes sir, officer." Britney stands up and slips off her skimpy pink bikini, revealing what little was left to the imagination. Cute brown nips and a neatly shaved twat, with pink folds peeking out.

"Fuck yeah, Brit-Brit. You're way hotter than Christina Aguilera," Jackson beams.

Britney laughs under her breath while masturbating in slow circles. "Now

you

get naked, officers. I wanna see your chiseled cop physiques."

We quickly remove our LAPD uniforms, making her swoon in admiration. She rubs her small smooth hands all over our ripped bodies. "Damn, I love these big superhero muscles. You've been chasing lots of bank robbers, and tackling mad crackheads."

"The real superheroes don't get no respect, baby-girl," Jackson remarks.

Britney squeezes my biceps while squeezing her clit, moaning so cutely.

"Time for a workout, boys. Let's take this little show down to my fitness center."

She leads us down a long hallway lined with rooms full of crazy overpriced crap, and down a flight of stairs to the basement. Her fitness center has more treadmills, ellipticals, yoga/Pilates equipment, and weight machines than the average Gold's Gym.

"Grab some free weights and lie down on those benches," she orders.

We grab four fifty pound dumbbells and get our naked asses on those padded rep benches. The camera guys gaze down as we raise the weights slowly toward the ceiling, and slowly back down.

"Oh shit, that raw masculine energy gets me so hot. I'm gonna suck your hard rods while you pump iron."

She kneels down on the floor and resumes her skillful oral performance, making me growl fiercely while lifting the weights. Holy fuck, this is crazier than any porn video ever saw. Capturing it all on tape for Fox Nation makes it even hotter, enhancing the sense of danger. We better put this video on a private hard drive as soon as we leave, and make damn sure to delete it from the camera.

Britney pulls her lips off my pricks with a funny popsicle-like

poof! s

ound, then she turns around on her knees and blows Jackson.

"Bitch, you is fucking

psycho!"

he growls while pumping iron and getting "pumped up."

"Shut the fuck up, Action Jackson. Gimme ten more!"

She puts his penis back in her mouth. He growls louder with each repetition, finally reaching ten. Then she turns around and grabs my dick.

"Ten more for you, McDavid."

She shoves my schlong against her tonsils as I raise the dumbbells.

"Count 'em out for me, officer!"

"Six . . . seeeven . . .

eiiight

. . .

niiiiiine . . . TEEEEEEN!"

I drop the dumbbells loudly on the concrete floor, huffing and sweating. Primitive alpha male aggression surges through my veins.

"Crazy fucking

biiitch

. We're gonna fuck the shit out of you while

you

pump iron."

"Oh goody. A hardcore workout with some hardcore bobbies. I learned that term from BBC America."

"Bitch, I'm gonna pound your ass with a

real

BBC," Jackson quips. Britney plays an upbeat tecnho instrumental on a stereo system, then she goes to a lower-body weight machine and spreads her legs nice and wide on the padded bars.

"Come on, McDavid. Fuck the shit out of me while I tone my abductors."

"Yes ma'am, Slutty Spears."

I ram my rod right up her tight milf pussy, making her squeal. I can't believe I'm banging Britney fuckin' Spears! She looks great, smells great, feels great . . . everything about her is fucking great. She squeals louder as I keep pounding away, flexing her groin muscles outward on that metal pulley contraption.

"Keep going, Britney. No pain, no gain.

You better work, bitch, you better work, bitch /

You better work, bitch, you better work, bitch!

"

She does ten more reps, and I try like hell to hold back my load. She moans harshly with exertion and ecstasy.

"Girl, you is too damn skinny," Jackson says from the sidelines. "You need to buff up them Olive Oyl arms."

He stands underneath a tricep extension machine, and Britney backs that ass up against him. She grabs the overhead handle bar and pulls it outward while he slams his black dick into her white body.

"Oooooh

shiiit!

Fucking break that pussy, boy!" she squeals over the music. Combining work and pleasure in one amazing moment. Dave gets his camera as close as he can to her dripping wet cunt, and Doug gets a closeup shot of her sweaty snarling face. (They obviously shot a few pornos before this COPS gig.)

Britney moans in exasperation after ten tricep reps. She turns around and grabs Jackson's balls, fiddling them like a fidget toy.

"I need some DP action, officers."

"Fuck yeah," I grunt.

"I'm gonna ass-fuck the Princess of Pop so hard," Jackson boasts.

I lie down on a pink mat in a corner of the fitness room, and she slides my dick up her snatch in the cowgirl position. Jackson saddles up behind her, squeezing his thick ebony rod up her asshole. I pump my pelvis rapidly upward, loudly smacking against her sagging forty-something cheeks. Jackson thrusts even harder from the other direction, driving Britney even crazier.

"Fuck me harder, you fucking pigs! Ooooooh

yeaaaaah,

just like that! I've been dreaming about this for soooo long, every time I watch COPS!"

Doug and Dave move their cameras all along her sweaty straining body, seeking better and better angles with their dicks nearly busting their zippers.

"Oh god, that's so fucking good. I back the blue, baby!"

"Damn right, bitch," I growl. "

You're

the one who needs to get defunded."

"I wanna suck some cameraman cock," she says naughtily.

"Yes ma'am," Doug chuckles. "A little gonzo action for daddy's little girl."

He sticks his crotch in her face, and she yanks out his throbbing pink penis. Sucking it awkwardly with her torso tilting diagonally, bouncing every which way.

"Fuck yeah, Brit-bitch," Doug growls. "You're the ringmaster in a slutty circus."

"All eyes on

me,

" she utters proudly. Dave gets naked and sticks his stick in her face with the camera aimed downward. She tilts her head to the left and gives him some oral attention. Meanwhile, I smack Britney's ass nice and hard, over and over. Like the naughty Deep South girl she still is.

"Spank the shit out of me, McDavid! Lay down the fucking law!"

The amazing five-way TV orgy keeps going and going. We're all sweating bullets in her superstar gym. I switch places with Jackson, fucking her brutally up the ass and spanking her even more.

"Naughty fucking

biiiiitch,"

I growl. "Daddy couldn't knock any sense into you, so the cops are doing it the hard way."

"

Bad boys, bad boys,

" Dave sings half-heartedly while getting a great hummer.

"Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when their balls turn blue?"

"You better bust those balls on my face, boys."

"Hell yeah," I grunt while whacking her ass cheeks. "Get on your fucking knees."

She hops off the cops and kneels down next to a hamstring curl machine. I go over there and aim right between her eyes, jerking like I've never jerked before.

"Beg for it, bitch."

"Please, daddy. I want some candy."

"Please,

officer!"

"

Please,

officer! I want your cop cum all over my pretty face."

"You have the right to remain silent, you fucking cunt! Oh gah, oh gah, oh gaaaaAAAAAAAAHHH!"

A massive orgasm hits me like a freight train, and hits her like a Super Soaker. She moans throatily with her tongue stuck way out, catching the raining jizz. She licks some more off the tip, then she deep-throats me yet again, gagging my balls dry as I keep roaring toward the ceiling.

"Hit me with your best shot, Action Jackson!" she beams while stroking my shaft. He tags me out and grabs her blonde bangs, yanking her up toward his face and jerking like hell.

"I'm like a black Judge Dredd, beeatch. Judge . . . jury . . . and

executioner!

"

He blows a mighty load all over her plastic surgery-enhanced face and breasts, howling like a wolf.

"My turn, officers," Doug announces through the camera lens.

"Yeah, get your ass over here, Mister Cameraman. Gimme some P.O.V. splooge."

Doug gets up in her face with the heavy camera trained downward. She jerked off his eight-inch shaft with her eyes held steadily on that all-seeing Fox Nation lens.

"Aww shit, Britney. You drive me crazy, but it feels alright."

"

Sometimes I run, sometimes I hide / sometimes I scared o—

"

"HOOWAA! HOOWAA! HOOWAA!"

He interrupts her teenage hit with a heavy jet of jizz, right into her open mouth. It keeps spurting and spurting, until he finally gets his fill. She spits out a gallon all over her tits and pussy, laughing playfully. Doug stumbles away with his camera in total ecstasy, and Dave swoops in.

"Time for the grand finale, Britney," he chortles while choking his chicken. "I'm gonna masturbate to this crazy video for the rest of my fucking life. Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oooooWAAAAAAAAAH! OOOOOOH FUUUUUUUCK!"

Dan covers the rest of her face with hot cream, sputtering out like an old clunky Geo Metro. She sighs luxuriantly while fiddling a big clump of slimy jizz between her fingers.

"Great collar, officers. You got your woman. Are you gonna drag me down to the station now?"

"Maybe I

will

arrest your hot ass, baby," I reply playfully.

"Hell yeah, girl. I wanna lock you up in my basement and fuck you every single

night.

"

"Sorry Jackson, I ain't into that kinky shit," Britney giggles. She gets up, grabs a pink gym towel, and wipes off the evidence of our epic bukkake. "You boys can stop by my mansion and do another 'welfare check' any time you want."