The Interrogation, Part II [m/m/f, domination, humiliation] Please start with Part I. PMs welcome.

Click. “Again, we can certainly wait until Monday. The judge will be able to see you and at the very least we will have a female officer to assist you.” Click. “No. I’m fine. I want to get out of here.” Click. “Stand and approach the mirror.” Click The young woman stood somewhat robotically, as if she were watching herself from across the room. She walked up to the two-way mirror quickly and stood, awaiting further instructions. Click. “Open your mouth and show me that you have nothing in your cheeks or under your tongue.” Click.
The woman cast a disbelieving glare off to the side, then faced the mirror dead-on and opened her mouth; she lifted her tongue, moved it right and left, all the while staring straight into her reflection. As she began to close her mouth, she felt a thin line of saliva escape; she clamped her lips closed and made a quick sucking sound to avoid drooling. Her cheeks burned red hot; she knew there was no way the officer on the other side of the glass had not seen her nearly spit on herself. Click. “Take one step back from the glass.” Click. The young woman did as she was told; standing tall and still, her hands at her sides. The hollow pit in her stomach grew larger as she noted her reflection in the glass. Over the last several years, when she would see other women in the locker room at the gym, or on the occasions she had watched porn on her laptop, she noticed that her nipples became harder and stood away from her breasts more than most women. Standing alone in this room, being interrogated by this officer, she noted with horror that her big nipples were erect and fully visible through the fabric of her top. As her eyes traveled down her own body, she regretted her hasty decision not to wear her panties to yoga; the outlines of her outer labia could be seen through her pants. Click. “Turn in a complete circle,” the voice said; she did as she was told. Click. “We recently had a case where a female inmate in our jail hid contraband between her breasts to avoid detection. Bend at the waist toward the glass and use your hands to part your breasts and demonstrate you are not hiding anything.” Click. Oh my god, she thought.; she was not sure how much more embarrassed she could possibly get and she could not understand why she felt so compelled, eager even, to comply with these mortifying instructions. Slowly, she bent forward, bringing her hands up to her chest; she felt her large breasts hanging forward, held by the fabric of her top. She inserted her fingers deep into her cleavage and parted her breasts; she realized she was striving to give her tormentor the best view possible of the space between her tits. As she stood there, being forced to let this stranger stare down her top, she felt her nipples tingle and harden further; and to her shock, she felt a small wet spot in the crotch panel of her tight, thin pants. Click. “Unfortunately, your top is too tight to allow proper inspection. Remove it.” Click. Well there it was. Did she want to leave this awful little room or didn’t she? Did she want to object? Did she want to do as she was told? Did she, for reasons she did not fully understand, want to please this man? Turning her head to stare at the wall to her right, she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it out and up, over her full breasts. As the fabric finally cleared her nipples, her boobs dropped down against her body. She completed removing the top over her head and tossed it on the floor. In the mirror she noticed that her boobs looked huge; her nipples were in fact fully erect and her usually large, dark areola were shrunken and pruned.
Click. “Lift them so I may inspect underneath.” Click. Dutifully, she cupped each of her breasts and held them up so the flesh underneath was clearly visible. She then lowered them back against her body.
Just then, to her surprise, a light came on in the room on the other side of the glass; the effect was to make what had been a one-way mirror now a clear window between the rooms. On the other side was the officer who had stopped her, standing in a small room with a desk and filing cabinet behind him.
But he was not alone; at some point, the first officer had invited a second man to join him. The second guy was also in the same uniform, except that he was a much larger and African American. In fact, as she looked at him more, she realized the guy was enormous; he was a head taller than the first guy; his massive biceps strained against the short sleeves of his uniform shirt. She realized that the normal reaction might be to turn away from these two men, or to cover up, but some switch had been flipped and she knew she would obey whatever instructions she was given; so she stood there, her breasts exposed, her juices starting to soak her pants. Her arresting officer leaned and spoke into a mic on the desk, she heard the now familiar click, “In order to complete our search, you need to remove your pants. Do it now.” Click. As she watched the cops watching her, the woman stepped on the heels of her sneakers to pull them off; she then bent to remove her short, pink socks. As she bent, she felt her breasts swing and sway in front of her. Finally, she took the waist band of her pants in her fingers and pulled them down. She wriggled her hips, which made her breasts dance back and forth, and shimmied her way out of her pants. She then stood before the window, fully nude. If she stood at the right angle, she could still see her faint reflection in the glass; she could see the neatly trimmed triangle of dark pubic hair, her flat, toned belly and athletic thighs. She then looked back though the glass at the officers. Both men were staring at her intently. She saw the white officer say something to his big, black coworker. And then, as if in unison, both men pulled their gun belts up a little higher on their hips, and lowered the zippers on their uniform pants. She stood transfixed as each man fished inside his pants with his fingers. The white officer was a little faster, though both men seemed to struggle a bit; he pulled his large fully erect penis out through his fly. His cock was circumcised, with a fat purple head and thick veins along his shaft. The young woman then looked at the black officer. He had also flopped his cock free of his pants; the thing was almost comically large; a massive, dark, thick thing so big that even though it was hard, its own girth cased it to hang down. She realized she had been holding her breath and took a quick gulp of air; her heart was pounding. Click. “You know exactly what we need to see; turn, bend at the waist, and use both hands to spread your buttocks open; you are going to expose your anus to us so that we can inspect it fully.” Click As if on autopilot, the woman did exactly as she was told; she turned to face the back of the room, bent over and placed a hand on each of side of her firm butt. She then pried her bottom apart. She felt the skin of her anus pull tight, involuntarily she contracted her muscles, causing her asshole to constrict and then release; she felt her outer labia part and her inner labia gape open; she gasped as the air hit her warm pussy and she felt her own juices leaking from her open pussy and running down her inner thigh. After waiting a beat, she stood and turned around. Through the glass, both men were stroking their erections. The white officer was gripping his shaft backhand, quickly jerking his cock back and forth; the black officer had his massive dick caught tightly in his big hand, he was pulling his cock up so it pointed at the ceiling, slowly working it up and down. Click. “Pull the chair closer to the window and place your left foot on it.” Click. The woman did as she was told. The chair scraped across the floor. She raised her leg and placed her foot in the cold seat. She felt her pussy open again and again she felt her own wetness. Her pussy was soaking and she felt a throbbing in her clit. Both men were now jerking their cocks harder and faster.

The Interrogation [M-F, domination]. This is part 1; comments and messages from interested women welcome; then will post part 2.

The trooper clocked the convertible mustang at 86 miles per hour in a 55 zone. He also clocked a baseball cap, big, dark sunglasses and a dark ponytail.

Stopping her was fairly easy; she about came to a full stop as soon as he hit the lights a siren behind her. As he approached, he saw the hat come off, the hair tie pulled out and the glasses whipped to the seat beside her. As he got up to the driver’s side window, she was already talking, “didn’t realize I may have been going a little . . . “ but he wasn’t listening. Instead he was looking at the dark yoga pants covering the driver’s thighs and her tight, brightly colored tank-top.

“License, registration and insurance card, ma’am.”

After running her name and plates, the trooper learned the woman had no record or warrants, owned her convertible and was 26 years old and single. He returned to the car.

“Ma’am, in Texas, operating a motor vehicle at more than 20 miles per hour over the posted speed limit is reckless driving, a class A misdemeanor. I am going to need you to follow me to the station.” He turned on his heal and headed back to his cruiser before she could respond. As he pulled back onto the highway, he saw the little white convertible drop in behind him dutifully.