The interrogation room felt different tonight. Not cold and sterile, but warm, almost inviting. Officer Isabella leaned back in her chair, her stockings catching the light. Her uniform was crisp, the dark fabric highlighting the curve of her natural tits pressing against the buttons of her shirt. She knew she had me exactly where she wanted me.
"Tell me again, where were you on the night of the… infraction?" she purred, her voice dripping with an Italian accent. She slowly stroked her truncheon, the rhythmic tap-tap-tapping against the wooden table the only sound in the room. My eyes were glued to her nylon feet, crossed delicately at the ankles, the cosplay feet begging to be worshipped.
With a mischievous grin, she began to strip, unbuttoning her shirt one button at a time. Her movements were deliberate, each one a calculated act of teasing. The air thickened with anticipation. She paused, her shirt hanging open just enough to reveal a hint of lace. "Are you going to cooperate?" she whispered, her eyes locking with mine.
Reaching down, she slowly slid her hand up her calf, the nylon whispering against her skin. Her barefoot peeked out, toes flexing slightly. The tap-tap-tapping of the truncheon stopped. Instead, she used the tip to trace a line along the arch of her foot. A low moan escaped my lips.
Isabella chuckled, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Perhaps… I need to apply a little more… persuasion." She leaned forward, her scent filling my senses. The game had changed. The foot fetish was in full swing. This wasn't an interrogation anymore. It was a dance of desire, a softcore seduction led by a woman who knew exactly what she wanted... and exactly how to get it.
She noticed the sweat in my face, her bushy hair was amazing under the light. She really knew how to use the power of a policewoman.
