Police women's new role

( Ed note, the following uses characters from https://chyoa.com/story/A-policewomans-lot.66639 if you want to know more about them and see dirty pictures then click)

The alarm was a shriek of betrayal. It was 8 PM on a Tuesday, and the sun had long since abandoned the sky. Jill dragged herself from the thin, unsatisfying sleep of the day-shifter, her body heavy with fatigue. The room was pitch black. Moving on autopilot, she stripped off her pyjamas, her skin prickling in the cool air, and stumbled into the shower.

The water hit her like a shock, a brutal, cold slap that ripped a sharp gasp from her throat. As it warmed, she lathered her long blonde hair, watching the suds slide down over the full, heavy curve of her DD-cup breasts. Washing herself, her hands encountered the rough stubble under her arms and on her legs, a week’s neglect. With quick, efficient strokes of her razor, she erased it. She paused at her groin. She’d always maintained a neat, tidy triangle. But a sudden, impulsive urge made her take the razor lower, sweeping away everything until her pussy was completely bare, the skin underneath startlingly smooth and ****.

Stepping out, she caught her reflection in the steamy mirror. “Not bad for 33,” she thought, a flicker of pride cutting through the exhaustion. At six feet tall, she was an imposing figure. Broad shoulders, a toned stomach, long, powerful legs. Her wet blonde hair was plastered to her back, and her large breasts sat high and firm on her chest. But the cold air had its effect, her nipples had hardened into two painfully erect, sensitive pebbles. She groaned inwardly; they were notoriously oversensitive and would remain that way for hours. Her gaze travelled down to her newly bare pussy. The lips looked swollen, red, and glistening, hypersensitive from the razor. “I should have started there first,” she muttered.

She applied lotion, her fingers gently smoothing the cool cream over the inflamed, tender skin. A subtle, unwelcome throb of arousal began to pulse deep within her. Her alarm rang again, she was going to be late. Reluctantly, she pulled on a black thong and a sports bra, inserting rigid silicone nipple shields to conceal her obvious state. Then came the standard-issue black t-shirt and combat trousers. She yanked her wet hair into a severe bun, pulled on her boots, and ran out the door.

She arrived at the police office and one of her friends from the day shift was leaving "Good luck with your duty tonight" she called out

“What kind of duty?” Jill asked, her guard instantly up but her friend was away

Jill was first in muster as always however it filled with the other cops from her shift, eventually Sergeant Brown finally entered the room "I have a special job of you Jill" he said with a smile on his fat face, Jill looked confused.

“Extraction duty,” Brown said, his eyes roaming over her body. “The inmates are a valuable, untapped resource. But they need… persuading. The men can’t do it—too much aggression, not the right touch. And WPC Andrews…” he gestured dismissively to the only other female officer, a short, butch lesbian with a grimace, “…well, let’s just say she doesn’t have the required… persuasive assets. You, on the other hand, are the logical choice.”

Jill’s blood ran cold. “You can’t be serious. That’s not police work! I didn’t join for—”

“You joined to serve,” Brown interrupted, his voice hardening. “And this is how you’re serving. Now, you’ve been pre-selected. Your new uniform is in the locker room. Go get changed. Now, Probationer.”

The “new uniform” was a nightmare in navy blue polyester. It wasn’t just a skirt; it was a microscopic, tight-fitting tube that barely covered her ass. The matching jacket was several sizes too small, the buttons straining dangerously over her breasts, the material cutting into her armpits. A note was pinned to it: ‘Regulation 7.1: To ensure hygiene and eliminate contamination, no undergarments are to be worn beneath the Extraction Duty Uniform.’

Humiliation burned through her. She had ****. She stripped and pulled on the vile outfit. The rough fabric scraped against her bare, oversensitive nipples, making her gasp. The skirt was so short and tight that the hem dug into the upper reaches of her thighs, and the coarse seam rode up directly against her freshly shaved, tender pussy lips. Every movement was a tiny, maddening friction. She looked in the mirror, her cleavage was pushed up and spilling out, her hard nipples were clearly visible against the tight fabric, and if she bent even slightly, everything was exposed. She was not a police officer; she was a wrapped present for the inmates.

Sergeant Brown whistled low and long when she returned. “Perfect. The van’s waiting. Don’t disappoint the Prime Minister.”