The probable plot invites us on a multi-scene quest of criminal investigation, where the main character has only one clue as to who is the real killer. It’s the mouthfeel and texture of cum splashed on their face in the masked swinger party that ended up with a murder. As interviews grant them no solid lead, the only path towards solving the puzzle is to lure everyone on the list into a faithful reconstruction of the murderer’s orgasm and compare it against the memory of the killer’s shot.

After numerous tests failed, they have one name on the list, and to be sure, they follow the script once again, pretty sure they’d zip-tie that cock and call it a win.

Flashbacks sparks as investigator tries their best to be convincing and give no chance of being discovered, but it seems they sloppily left something while dressing down, only for the killer to see. Was it a badge, or some device they wanted to immobilize the suspect with?

The cockhaver shifted from a passionate hook-up enjoyer into a menace. They denied investigator a facial and instead took it deep into their mouth. They hold their head in that position, and start to ramble in a comic villain fashion about how it’s investigator who got lured. They came with the last line, and up-looking eyes of an investigator seemed uncomfortable.

Before the brows lowered, as they recognized the obvious shortcoming of said villain’s plan.

there, scenes of fight get mixed with videos of nature, particularly alligators biting their victims and tilting their heads to tear them appart

Not leaving the succ, they engage in a choreographed fighting sequence like in Matrix, two-body contorsious organism jumping to walls in slowmo with investigator smashing villain’s head against furniture and their kicks. The fridge door opens and they throw the suspect in, releasing the teeth, and they get thrown right into it, getting K.O.-ed. A carton of milk that stood in the door section tilts and sink them in white.

The main character spews to the side and stays with handcuffs towering over the exhausted villain. There it is, the weiner in a dickstack. Mission accomplished.

End credits roll on with Fuk Da Police trumpet line playing, but in a chill, lounge mode you’d prefer ‘in the sheets’.

Welcome to my mid-life crisis and wondering if deep inside I’m an oscar-worthy prodigy porn director, or just a horny shitposter who wanted to make fun of a scary tech law enforcement now uses 🙃