Full body search

Officer Eve runs her hands over the street hooker's body. She slides her palms along the inside of those bare thighs, then lingers where skin turns slick. The fabric of the woman's skirt offers little resistance. Eve's fingers trace the curve of her ass, then dip lower, checking everywhere, and when her touch lands on the hooker's cunt she doesn't pull away. This body needs searching to the bone. "Strip," she says, voice low and even. The captive peels off what little she wears. Naked under the blue lights, she waits. Eve draws her truncheon, grips the rubber handle, and presses the smooth black shaft against those glistening folds. The wood slides in with ease; the woman shudders, thighs parting wider on their own. The deeper it goes, the wetter the hooker gets, hips rolling slow to meet each push. Eve feels the heat climb the length of the truncheon and wonders whether this search is about contraband anymore. The captive moans quietly at every thrust, eyes half-lidded, cunt gripping the cold length like it belongs there. Eve keeps working it, measuring every reaction, each slick sound filling the narrow cell.