I've been called in because there is a rather tight lipped prisoner in detention. None of the men on the were able to cr*ck him and get the time sensitive information on future attacks on our civilians. The sergeant in command has no other choice than to reach out to me because he knows that however unconventional my approach is, it gets the job done.

I walk into the holding cell, and you look at me with disdain. You tell me that there's nothing I can say or do that would make him spill. He tells me that he's been roughed up already, and he can't imagine that I would do anything worse.

I smile knowingly. I know your weakness. I know what will make you spill over and over and over again. I sit down, and slowly cross my shapely muscular legs. I realize that I have your immediate attention, even though you try to hide it. This is just the beginning. You becoming weaker and weaker as I cross and uncross my legs, as I touch my thighs and trail my finger tips over my calves. You begin to melt into my hands when I unzip my dress to show off my powerful curvy body.

You seem rather tense...what can I do to relieve you?! I lean over and start stroking your very obviously hard c*ck over your pants. I undo your pants and stroke you even harder. This is quid pro quo. You tell me what I need to know, I will make sure you feel better than you ever have.

There's a reason why I'm called when a difficult prisoner is caught. There is no man on this planet that can resist what I have to offer.

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