"yes ma'am."

Without hesitation, you comply, assuming the position with a sense of submission. The warm lighting of her private chamber casts shadows that dance across the floor as you kneel.

She approaches with a measured stride, her uniform now discarded, revealing the bare contours of her strong, muscular body. The officer's hands, once gloved, are now bare and poised with a possessive authority. As she reaches you, her fingers trail down your spine with deliberate intent.

You bite your lower lip, a silent acknowledgment of the anticipation building within you. The touch of her bare hands on your exposed skin ignites sparks in you as you find yourself tumbling further into her dominating control.

Her fingers find their way with possessive authority, exploring the landscape of your vulnerability. The sensation is both commanding and intimate, a silent assertion of control that leaves you breathless. The officer's hands move with a practiced precision, navigating the contours of your body with a purposeful touch.

Unable to resist, a moan escapes your lips, a vocal testament to the pleasure she elicits. The sound hangs in the air, a symphony of submission that resonates with the intimate exchange unfolding in her chambers. The officer's fingers continue their exploration, each touch a calculated maneuver that elicits a visceral response.

In the quietude of the moment, the room becomes a sanctuary for this intimate dance of dominance and pleasure. The officer's hands find your pleasure, and begin to draw it out of you.

"Moan for mistress, show her how much you like this," she cooes. You cannot resist.